Lay Me Down
by KillTheWhelp
Summary: Hunter McCarthy's experience at the BAU is about to change forever when she meets her idol, David Rossi [Warnings for language and trigger warnings for anything you might expect when involved in this show]
1. Prologue: Seven Seconds

**Hey, KillTheWhelp here. If you didn't see my update on my page, I've decided that More Than You Bargained For is going to take way too long for my patience and I just wanted to jump right into the Rossi stuff, so here I am! If you haven't read any of that, you don't need to, but it might help? I dunno. You do you.**

* * *

 **"Katie's been wetting** her bed," Dr. Spencer Reid reported, lifting up the covers to reveal a stained mattress.

The gangly doctor and I were investigating the bedroom of a young asthmatic girl named Katie Jacobs who had gone missing in a local shopping mall while on a family outing with her parents, aunt, uncle and cousin. At first she was believed to be a potential victim of the man who'd kidnapped another girl the week before and murdered her. But then Katie's necklace—and an expensive one at that—was found in the trash, the clasp broken. With us was Derek Morgan, the hunky chocolate man known for kicking down doors and hosting flirty phone conversations with our fabulously flamboyant tech-analyst, Penelope Garcia.

And we were only a fraction of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

There was also Jennifer Jareau (or JJ), our media liaison; Emily Prentiss, another agent, as well as my best friend in the unit; and Aaron Hotchner, our Unit Chief. We'd recently lost two agents in our unit to the horrors of some of the cases we'd been put on. Jason Gideon, one of the people who actually created our unit back in the day, had suffered two breakdowns: One in the wake of a bomb, the other after a prolific serial killer named Frank Breitkopf took an unfortunate interest in Gideon and murdered his significant other. He left a couple of months ago, telling Reid (who viewed him as a father figure) that he was going to find himself. Elle Greenaway had left us the year before after trauma induced by an (at the time) unknown subject (or unsub) named the Fisher King had led to her shooting a rapist we were investigating. She claimed it was self-defense, but it seemed more like she killed him in cold blood. Elle's position had been filled by Emily. But Gideon's remained empty.

"A lot of six year-olds do," Morgan shrugged Reid's observation off. "Could be bad dreams."

"Some kids won't get up at night because they're afraid of the dark," Reid continued. He was the smartest person I ever knew, certifiably a genius. He could spout out factoids about anything and everything. He was also, admittedly, a little afraid of the dark himself.

I squatted down and pawed through a basket of Katie's toys on the floor. Underneath a few stuffed animals was something that gave me a lump in my throat.

"Or it could be a lot more complex than that," I said, standing up. Reid and Morgan came to my sides to look at the altered Barbie doll in my hand. Her hair had been chopped short and her eyes had been colored over by a black marker. But the most disturbing part was the paperclip wrapped around the doll's neck, the red line underneath it symbolizing blood.

"Most girls covet their dolls like an extension of themselves," Reid murmured.

"I know these signs," I sighed, wishing that I didn't. "Acting out on her toys, wetting the bed…"

"She's obviously covering something up about that necklace," Morgan added.

"And her cousin might be holding something back," Reid said.

"Katie's in a lot of pain and not tellin' anybody, and I think I know why," Morgan said.

I stared into his eyes, knowing what he was thinking and why he was thinking it. He himself had been molested as a child, so I knew this must have been hard for him.

* * *

It turned out that Katie was being molested by her uncle and that her aunt found out and blamed Katie for ruining their marriage. Using the previous kidnapping as a red herring, the aunt lured Katie away from the arcade, where she had last been seen with her cousin. She duct taped the girl's mouth shut and hid her in a storage closet. Hotch found Katie unresponsive and managed to resuscitate her.

When we returned to the Bureau, I stayed a little while longer and went up the stairs to Gideon's old office. It had been empty for months, but part of me still expected to see him behind his desk. I could picture him reading a book about obscure birds, his glasses at the end of his nose.

I wasn't particularly close to Gideon. Not in the way that Reid and even Elle were. I always felt like he didn't have faith in me, or maybe that he sensed some of my doubts when I was transferred to the BAU after my stint in Crisis Negotiations. But I knew that Gideon cared for all of us, and we all cared for him.

I wondered when he'd be replaced. I hoped that, whenever it finally happened, the person wouldn't be a dick.


	2. About Face

**"Happy almost Halloween,** Hunter," Emily batted her eyelashes at me from her desk across from me.

"Happy almost Halloween, Emily," I returned the favor.

Then I looked up and saw Reid coming in through the doors. I could tell it was him because of his slight frame. Also because he was the only one I worked with who would come into the FBI wearing a Frankenstein's Monster mask and a pair of creepy gloves. He had a fake noose dangling around his neck and a paper bag with what looked like a black wig hanging out of it.

He started to growl, coming up behind Morgan. "I'm going to eat you!"

Morgan turned and jumped. I had never seen him this uncalm, uncool, and uncollected. Emily and I were laughing.

"Reid," Morgan grunted in an annoyed tone.

"Happy All Hallow's Eve, folks," Reid said in his normal voice. He lifted the mask up onto the top of his head so we could see his pretty face. "To paraphrase from Celtic mythology, tomorrow night, all order is suspended and the barriers between the natural and the supernatural are _temporarily remo-o-oved_!" He used a spooky voice on those last words and yanked the wig out of the bag, revealing a fake shrunken head. A ghastly moan coming out of his mouth, he tossed the head to a giggling Emily.

"See, that right there is why Halloween creeps me out," Morgan leaned back in his chair.

"You're scared of Halloween?" Reid furrowed his brow.

" _The_ Derek Morgan is scared of _Halloween_?" I covered my fake gasp with my hand.

"I didn't say I was scared, I said I was creeped out. There's a difference there, youngsters, you should look it up," Morgan defended himself, glancing over at me too.

Reid, JJ, and I were all within a few years of each other, making us the youngest in the BAU. The doctor looked away and took off his gloves, but I smirked at Morgan.

"What creeps you out about it?" Emily side-eyed him.

"I dunno, people wearing masks," Morgan gestured towards Reid before him. "I don't like folks in disguises."

"That's the best thing _about_ Halloween," Reid seemed unable to conceive of Morgan's comment. "You can be anyone you wanna be."

"Nah, I'm pretty good just being me."

"Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?" Emily cocked her head, looking at me.

"You know what, though? On the flip side, it _does_ provide a pretty good reason to cozy up with a scary flick…and a little Halloween honey," he winked at me.

"Ew," I grimaced. "Halloween honey? That-ew, now _I'm_ creeped out."

Reid looked over at the doorway. "Guys, he's here," he whispered.

We'd heard murmurs recently that someone was going to be coming in to fill up our open slot in the unit. I never heard who it was going to be, but it seemed like Reid knew more than I did. I looked over and was utterly surprised at who was following Erin Strauss, our bitchy blonde Section Chief.

It was David Rossi. He and Gideon had helped in creating our unit back in the day. He was also a personal hero of mine. I'd seen him speak, read all of his books, and even met him once at a book signing when I was still in college. There was no conceivable way he would remember me, but I could never forget him. He was the reason I joined the FBI and got involved in crisis negotiations. He was also a big part of why I joined the BAU when Hotch offered me the position.

Reid hurriedly took his mask off his head, revealing his chin-length curtain of light brown hair, but I think the damage was done because Rossi had made eye-contact with him, smiling as he passed by. For some reason I raised my hand in a pathetic attempt to wave. He locked eyes on me and nodded, continuing on his way.

My cheeks started to feel warm. I had forgotten how much handsomer he was in person. The last time I felt this way was when we went to LA to investigate the stalking of an actress named Lila Archer two years before. On that case Reid got a little up-close-and-personal with the pretty blonde. I found myself flirting with the lead detective on the case, Owen Kim. We had exchanged numbers, but nothing really happened.

Strauss led Rossi up to Hotch's office. JJ entered the office shortly after Strauss left, then the young woman came down to our level to let us know about a new case she was going to debrief us about.

"Wow, that's really him," Emily said, bouncing her dark eyebrows.

"Live and in the flesh," I craned my neck and looked into Hotch's window. He and Rossi were about to come down.

"SSA David Rossi," Hotch introduced as they came forward.

We all stood up. Reid shed the remains of his costume. I fiddled with my long brown hair, feeling underdressed in my jeans and blouse. Rossi was also wearing jeans, along with a brown suit jacket, but he was _David Rossi_.

"This is SSA Emily Prentiss," Hotch continued.

"Sir," Emily shook his hand enthusiastically. Rossi had a friendly smile on his tan face.

"SSA Derek Morgan."

"It's an honor, Agent Rossi," Morgan shook his hand.

"Please, just Dave," Rossi corrected.

"Dr. Spencer Reid," Hotch said.

"Sir, i-i-if I could talk to you later about your work with the Scarsdale Skinner," Reid began. The smile began to fade from Rossi's face. "Ps-Psycholinguistics is an incredibly dynamic field, and the fact that your profile of his reading habits ultimately led to his capture is something I find so incredibly intrig—"

"Reid, slow down. Uh, he'll be here for a while," Hotch interrupted. "You can catch up with him later."

"Sorry…"

"No problem, Doctor," Rossi smiled again.

"Maybe you guys can talk on the jet," Hotch suggested.

"Oh, yeah, that'd be great," Reid nodded.

"The _jet_?" Rossi echoed.

"We have a jet now," Hotch told him.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, it comes in pretty handy," Hotch then gestured to me. "And this is SSA Hunter McCarthy, the protégé you never knew you had."

I pursed my lips at Hotch. I had wanted to act cool around Rossi, but he was acting like an embarrassing dad. I wondered what he'd be like when his son, Jack, grew up.

"Protégé, huh? We'll also talk later," Rossi stepped closer and held out his hand. I couldn't hold back my smile.

"If you can get Reid to quiet down," I snickered, squeezing his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

Rossi nodded, bowing his head down a bit before we let go of each other's hands. He looked to Hotch, as did I.

"JJ is waiting," the unit chief said, leading the way to the round table room. I filed in after Emily and heard Morgan give Reid a light smack on the head.

JJ was putting notepads and pens down on the round table when we got there. "Carrollton, Texas is a suburb just outside of Dallas," she said as we all grabbed a seat, except for Rossi, who was taking in the sight of the room. "Four days ago, Michelle Colucci found this flier on her front door."

She used her remote to put a picture up on the big screen. There was a picture of a blonde woman running her fingers through her hair as she looked off to the side. Above her head it said, "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" I cocked my head to the side just as Rossi took the seat beside me. He smelled amazing—just the right amount of cologne.

" _She_ found it?" Morgan said incredulously.

"Meaning she wasn't actually missing?" I asked.

"Yet. She took the flier to a friend's husband, Detective Yarbrough, at the Carrollton PD, who told her it was probably just a Halloween prank, and he sent her home," JJ told us.

"Well, I don't blame him. Halloween brings out the _fool_ in everyone," Morgan glared pointedly at Reid.

"Still, he stopped by Michelle's house later to check up on her," JJ continued. "The door was open, and when he went inside he found this." She turned and clicked the remote again, showing us pictures of Michelle's dining room. The red walls were plastered with copies of the fliers. "Still thought maybe it could be some kind of a prank, until yesterday." She clicked the remote and showed us a picture of a naked woman lying face-down in the water. "Michelle was found floating in a small creek just outside of Carrollton. She had been sexually assaulted…" Another remote click. I was almost taken aback by the gruesome picture that came up. "…and her face had been removed."

"Removed?" Rossi questioned. "It wasn't animals or fish?"

"The Dallas County ME said that the edges of the wound were smooth, not torn," JJ explained. "A very sharp instrument had been used. He also found water in her lungs."

The door opened and I looked up to see a horrified Garcia. "Oh my God! What is _that_?" she covered her bespectacled face with her manila folder.

"Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia, this is SSA David Rossi," Hotch introduced.

"Is it gone?" Garcia ignored him. "JJ?"

The liaison switched to a picture of a half-eaten meal. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're safe," JJ made a face and sat down between Morgan and Prentiss.

"Okay," Garcia calmed down a little, but was still clearly skeeved out. "Just to…um… Uh, Carrollton, Texas has nearly a hundred and seventeen thousand residents," she handed her folder to Hotch. "A diverse population with a… Well, it's all in there. I'm sorry." She perked up and approached Rossi with her hand out. "Very happy to meet you, sir. I'll be in my office." And with that, she left.

I tried to hold back my grin. That was a palpably awkward moment. Morgan rubbed his forehead out of secondhand embarrassment. I could practically feel Rossi's confusion beside me.

"Sorry," Garcia came back and closed the door.

"She's different," Rossi said to Hotch.

"You have no idea," I chewed my lip, bouncing my eyebrows. I could feel Rossi's brown eyes on me, but I refused to look back at him. I could feel my cheeks getting warm again.

"Uh, so the unsub tells her she's going to go missing to psychologically torture her, then tortures her physically. Textbook sadist," Emily said.

"A sophisticated one," Hotch gestured to the screen, which was showing the dining room again. "That's elaborate."

"Number one," Morgan was looking at a picture from the file.

I looked through mine and found what he must have been talking about. In the middle of Michelle's dining room table was a white mask with the word "one" written on the forehead in red ink. It was displayed like a centerpiece, surrounded by more fliers.

"Uh, that particular mask is known as a false face," Reid said, looking over my shoulder. "It's most commonly worn during Halloween and Mardi Gras."

"Creepy. I rest my case," Morgan looked at Reid again.

"False face," Hotch echoed.

" _Her_ face? Uh, he mocks it, then destroys it?" Emily suggested.

"Oh, and Hotch," JJ sighed. "Ugh, local media has the story. It broke big."

"Tell Carrollton we'll be there first thing in the morning," Hotch ordered. "Let's stop this one at one."

"Yes, sir."

Hotch turned to Rossi. "If you want to take some time, get situated, maybe start on the next case?"

"I'm not back to get situated, Hotch. I'm here to work," Rossi told him.

"Everybody get your things together," Hotch said to us all as we stood up. "We're going to Texas."

* * *

I noticed that Rossi was sitting as far back in the jet as possible, looking down at something in his lap. I thought I'd seen him pull out something gold earlier. He seemed lost in thought.

"Do we all smell?" Emily muttered across the aisle to me in a funny voice, gesturing toward Rossi. She was sitting with Reid at the table, while I was on the couch, not too far from our Special Agent in Charge.

"Let's go over victimology," Hotch said before I could respond with anything more than a grin. "Would you like to join us, Dave?"

Rossi tossed his file down and got up, almost begrudgingly. He came to sit on the couch next to me and I noticed he had a notepad and pen in his hand. I slung one of my knees over the other and opened up my file.

"Reid, what have we got?" Hotch asked.

"Uh, Michelle Colucci was single, lived alone, no boyfriend, and no ex-husband," Reid said.

Beside me, Rossi was scribbling down in his notepad.

"Dating?" Emily asked.

"There's nothing in the reports," I shook my head.

"She was an architect. Friends and co-workers say she's a classic workaholic," JJ added. "Basically a loner who rarely went out of the house."

"So she's extremely low-risk," I deduced. "If it wasn't someone she knew personally, it's possible she was being stalked."

"Interesting," Rossi said.

"Sorry?" I cocked my head.

He looked up and saw that we were all staring at him. "Oh, I-I'm just thinking out loud."

"Something to add?" Hotch asked.

"No. Sorry to interrupt," he smiled wistfully.

"Well, she's pretty," Morgan shuffled through photographs. "It could be that the unsub met her casually and…made her part of some kind of fantasy."

"And he tries to act on it and she rejects him?" Hotch added.

"So he tortures her…out of anger?" Emily shrugged.

"Masks often represent a state of mind," Reid told us. "This one's blank, expressionless. Doesn't really coincide with anger."

"Reid, it's hard to imagine he did this out of anything less than rage," Morgan held up a picture of Michelle's face (or lack thereof).

The computer on the table beeped and a video chat window of Garcia popped up.

" _Hey, guys_ ," the quirky woman said.

"What's up? You got something for us?"

" _A list of Michelle Colucci's clients. She designed office space. Mostly big corporate remodeling plans_ ," Garcia informed.

"No private clients, one-on-one contact?" Hotch asked.

" _Doesn't look like it, no_."

"Thanks, baby girl," Morgan reached over to prepare to click out of the chat window.

" _Yeah_ ," she said before hanging up.

Beside me, Rossi was still writing down in his notepad. I didn't look down at his words, but I glanced back up at Emily and made a face.

* * *

We filed into the Carrollton Police Department after JJ and met a tall man at the fax machine.

"Detective Yarbrough?" JJ addressed him.

"FBI?" he responded, holding up a new 'HAVE YOU SEEN ME?' Only this time, it was of a brunette woman. "We got another flier—this time Metro Dallas." We followed him on his way back to his desk. "Enid White. Her roommate called Dallas PD this morning. Enid never came home after walking her dog last night."

"So she _is_ missing," Reid said.

"Well, he wallpapered the neighborhood with fliers for two blocks around their apartment," Yarbrough added, giving the one in his hands to Hotch.

"Outside, that's different," I put my hands on my hips.

"No one saw him putting them up?" Emily furrowed her brow.

"Dallas PD is still canvassing, but nothing so far," Yarbrough shook his head. "They're waiting for you on the new scene."

"Mind if I keep this?" Hotch asked.

"Not at all."

"Morgan, you, McCarthy, and Prentiss go to Michelle Colucci's house. JJ and I will talk to Enid's roommate. Dave, do you mind walking the disposal site with the detective and Reid?" Hotch asked.

"Whatever you need," Rossi offered.

"We'll regroup in an hour."

* * *

I stepped out of the Suburban with Morgan and Emily. We met in the middle of the street and looked at the small neighborhood.

"These houses sure are close together," Morgan pointed out.

"Yeah," Emily started walking toward Michelle's place. "So how do I get a woman out of her house without anyone seeing me?"

"He must have been watching her for a long time and knew that it was safe," I put-forth.

"There isn't a lot of cover on this street," Emily pointed out. We turned and stared into the street, imagining how it might have been the night Michelle was kidnapped.

"I have a vehicle," Morgan said, role-playing as the unsub.

"Big enough so I can watch without being seen," Emily said.

"But not so big as to draw attention to itself," I added, picturing a sedan parked outside of Michelle's house.

"No, neighbors will notice a strange vehicle parked outside of her house day after day, night after night," Emily said.

"It's human nature. You would notice something out of place in your own neighborhood," I sucked on my upper lip.

"And you would definitely notice a man repeatedly standing on your street."

"Yeah, it just doesn't make any sense," Morgan sighed and we all turned around to look at Michelle's house. "He didn't watch from here."

We went straight to Michelle's backyard and looked around. I was standing with Emily by the pool, trying to figure out what the unsub's vantage point was. Morgan had ventured into some of the shrubbery.

"This is where _I'd_ wait," his disembodied voice said.

"Yeah," Emily looked back. "I'd never be able to see you from the house." I followed her to the shrubs and met Morgan, who was now standing up.

"Prentiss, Mick," he pointed at several pairs of footprints in the soil.

"He was here a lot," I commented. "Watching everything she did."

* * *

I found myself back in the Suburban with Emily and Morgan. We were following the other Suburban and a few cop cars to the El Royale Motel where Enid White had called to say she was staying in. She'd bought a gun early that morning after running away the night before, fearing that if she called the police they'd think she was a victim of a harmless prank again. Once we'd parked, we all spilled out, guns at the ready, and approached the door of room six.

"FBI!" Hotch cried out.

Yarbrough opened the door and we followed him in. He cleared the bathroom and met us as we surrounded the bed. It looked as though it had never even been slept in—most likely, because I guess when Enid called she said that she didn't think she'd be able to stay awake. The blankets were covered with fliers, another false face mask displayed in the middle of them. This time, it had a red "two" written on the forehead.

"She's gone," Emily sighed.

We investigated with the local authorities for a while. I heard a sniffing sound in the closet and crouched down to pick up the fully-grown pug that was lying under there. I snuggled him to my chest and carried him out of the room, finding Hotch and Rossi by the door.

"I guess that solves the mystery of what happened to the dog," Rossi deadpanned.

"If only this little love-bug could tell us what happened to Enid," I frowned, stroking the canine's tan fur as he licked my cheek. A police officer came up and took him out of my arms.

"Twenty minutes," Yarbrough came down the stairs. "We were here in _twenty_ minutes. I can't believe we lost her."

"We may not have lost her. He kept Michelle for four days," Hotch pointed out.

"But we got nothin'!" Yarbrough retorted over my shoulder.

"That's not true. Look at the difference in the scenes," Hotch said calmly while Rossi wrote in his notepad.

"What do you mean? There's the mask, the fliers…"

Emily came out from the room to my side, a flier encased in an evidence bag. "Yeah, but these fliers weren't tacked up, they were just thrown around the room."

"So?" Yarbrough challenged.

"He left in a hurry, like he knew we were coming," I piped up just before Morgan came out with a cell phone in his hand.

"Okay, this was under the bed. Nine-seven-two area code," he said.

"That's Carrollton," Yarbrough said. "The hotline number."

"She used a cell phone," Emily said.

"You can get a cell interceptor at any electronics store," Morgan pointed out.

"You can?" Yarbrough questioned.

"Yeah, they don't cost that much. He probably sat right out here and heard everything she said."

"But if he followed her here from Dallas, why wait 'til she calls us to move on her?"

"To make sure it was the police who found the mask," I told Yarbrough.

"We need to gather your men and give a profile," Hotch said.

* * *

"He's a white male. His shoeprints have been examined and put him at about five-eleven, one-sixty-five," Morgan announced before the Carrollton PD. We were all there to give the profile.

All of us except for Rossi.

"So we've narrowed it down to anyone of average weight and height," Yarbrough said in a snarky voice. I understood why was so upset—he felt like Michelle Colucci's death was his fault, and now he was getting impatient.

"Exactly," Morgan replied, unperturbed.

"There's a sophistication and patience in what this unsub does that suggests a level of maturity," Emily said. "We believe this puts his age in the mid-thirties to forties range."

"Michelle Colucci was taken from the primary crime scene and disposed of at the tertiary crime scene four days later," Reid said. "That means she was held somewhere for at least three days. You can't really just hold a victim anywhere for days on end, so he most likely has access to a house of some kind."

"He's also fairly tech savvy," I added. "The fliers were made on a computer. And it's probable that he used a device to intercept Enid White's phone call."

"Witnesses in Enid White's neighborhood say they may have seen a white man putting up fliers, but none of them could describe him," Hotch said. "Even with all the media attention this case has received."

"Great," commented a younger detective, Bowie.

"Actually, what that tells us is that there is absolutely nothing remarkable about this man. He is exceedingly average," Emily said.

"As you said, Detective Yarbrough," Morgan started. "Average height, average build."

"It extends to his professional life as well. H-He most likely works in a field where he doesn't stand out, doesn't really make a mark," Reid mentioned.

"His lack of distinction is part of his psychopathy," I folded my arms across my chest. "We have hundreds of interactions with people every day. Most of those involve someone overlooking someone else."

"Most of us don't pay any attention to being ignored," Hotch took over. "But to this kind of unsub, each oversight is intentional. Especially when it comes from the object of his sexual desire. He begins to obsess over her until she's all he can think about. And the rage builds until he has to attack that person."

"So he's pissed off that nobody notices him?" Yarbrough said doubtfully.

"'Have you seen me?'" Morgan said.

"Wait, that's not about the women?" Bowie wondered.

"No," Emily shook her head. "The _masks_ are about the women—number one, number two. The fliers probably refer to him."

"Removing his victims' faces, uh, transfers his feelings of being ignored into a mission and it gives him a sense of power," Reid explained.

"And the power can make him arrogant, but it doesn't make him notable," Hotch said.

"So how the hell do we catch an invisible man?" Yarbrough asked.

"I'm pretty sure we can get him to contact you."

"What?"

"Well, the crime scenes show he wants to deliver his message to the police," I said. "He isn't going public."

"Hopefully by playing on his anger…" Hotch trailed off, looking up at a TV playing the news. The anchor was delivering breaking news that I couldn't hear, but I could definitely see the white mask in the upper right corner. "JJ, how'd they get that?" asked a crestfallen Hotch.

"Not from me," she said defensively. "I—Hotch, I called all the local police departments and I _stressed_ withholding the mask."

"I called 'em," said Rossi as he filtered in, gesturing to the TV above his head.

I furrowed my brow. Emily and I exchanged glances. _What the hell is he doing?_ I thought to myself.

"What?" Hotch asked.

"I said the FBI thinks the masks mean he's impotent," Rossi put his notepad in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"Can I speak to you for a second?" Hotch asked softly, ushering him out of the office.

I leaned into Emily's ear as JJ got a phone call, "They say never to meet your idols."

"I wonder why," she deadpanned back.

"Okay. Thanks," JJ muttered into her phone before hanging up. "Garcia found something."

* * *

We sat at a table in an office room. Rossi was staring at the evidence boards we'd created while Morgan dialed Garcia's number and put her on speaker.

"Garcia, talk to us," Morgan said.

" _Michelle Colucci recently drew up the plans for a remodel of three floors of a company called Techco Communications. It's a high-tech communications company in downtown Dallas_ ," she told us.

"And Enid White?" Hotch asked.

" _Worked there until two months ago_."

Yarbrough came into the room. "He's on two."

"The unsub?" Hotch asked.

"Demanded to speak to the FBI."

Rossi clicked onto line two of the phone, "This is FBI Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi."

" _You called me impotent_ ," said a quiet, but angry voice.

"Did I?"

" _I am_ not _impotent_."

"Why are you whispering?"

" _You lied. You_ lied."

"Is someone around you? Are you at work?"

" _You have to tell the news the truth_."

"I'll get you on the news and you can correct me yourself."

" _No. You, you,_ you _correct it_."

"By the way, I was, um, looking at the police security tapes for the day Michelle Colucci went missing."

" _What?_ "

"You watched her long enough to know she didn't have visitors. She was a loner. Yet you knew that Detective Yarbrough was coming over. You must have been right here in this station," Rossi finally sat down, "when he told her. Now, your face is gonna be on one of those tapes. And when I find it, I'm gonna paper this city with it. Just like you did with those women. Everyone will see it. They won't be able to ignore you now. But you won't inspire fear…"

Hotch looked like he was about to put a stop to the phone call. I wondered where Rossi was going with this. His voice was getting angrier with each word.

"…You'll inspire hatred and ridicule because the only power someone like you has is a mask."

Hotch held up his hand, but Rossi pointed a finger.

"And once that mask is removed, you'll be as insignificant as you've always been—a _loser_!" Rossi concluded, leaning away from the phone.

I looked around the room, waiting for a response. Morgan looked shell-shocked. I think I speak for everyone when I say that this was not the way to go.

" _You just signed Enid White's death warrant._ "

It sounded like the unsub crumpled up a bunch of paper before hanging up on us, the dial tone sounding shortly after.

* * *

"Lieutenant, I need you to lock the Techco building down tight. Nobody in, nobody out. It's vital," Hotch said into his walkie-talkie from the passenger side. I was driving our Suburban, sirens blaring as we followed the other marked cars.

"Rossi, you really think the unsub's still gonna be there after that call?" Morgan asked from the backseat.

"Of course, he thinks he has all the time in the world," Rossi replied from beside him.

"You think they got an image off the police security camera yet?" I asked.

"The security camera doesn't work. I lied about that," Rossi admitted.

"You lied about that?" I echoed.

"He doesn't know."

"Dave, that was incredibly reckless," Hotch admonished him.

"Hotch, he didn't weigh the body down well."

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't want Michelle found so quickly. He screwed that up. This kind of guy, when he plans something, if he has the time, if he's in control, he's meticulous. But being on the edge of the river, out in the open, he was _not_ in control, he was in a hurry. And he made a mistake."

"That's what you're hoping," Morgan cut in.

"Trust me, with an unsub like this, you need to throw him off his game. His hand needs to be forced," Rossi said confidently.

"I know that, Dave, but the point is, you did it by forcing ours," Hotch said.

* * *

We entered the glass doors of the Techco building and found the lobby to be consumed with workers.

"Is the building sealed?" Hotch asked the lieutenant.

"Top to bottom," he replied.

"Yarbrough, uh, make sure it stays that way," Hotch said as he pulled out his phone. "Garcia, which floors did Michelle Colucci remodel? … Got it, seven, eight, nine." He hung up. "Morgan take seven. We're looking for a rank-and-file employee who made a scene in the last twenty minutes or was here and gone. Prentiss, eight. Reid, nine. Don't approach him, just…try to get a name, maybe a picture. McCarthy, you're going to be down here with us."

I nodded and watched as my teammates headed for the elevators. I looked around at the people mulling around the lobby. I had an inkling that the unsub wasn't going to be upstairs.

"He's somewhere down here," I said. Rossi flashed his eyes to me, as if he were having similar thoughts.

"What?" Hotch asked.

"Can't you feel it?" I glanced back at my chief before scanning the crowd.

"Display your credentials," Hotch said. I followed his orders, pulling mine out of the back pocket of my jeans while he and Rossi grabbed them from inside their jackets. "FBI."

"He thinks we know what he looks like," Rossi said.

Hotch also pulled out the flier of Enid White and pretended to give it a thorough once-over, handing it to Rossi, who gave it to me. We continued to pass it around, making sure to look up and see if the unsub was panicking or reacting in some other way. We even started to walk around too, hoping to provoke him.

"There," I whispered, noticing a man who appeared to be pacing nervously. We watched as he began to walk off towards the elevators. Rossi and I started to follow him while Hotch picked up a phone call.

"Sir," Rossi put a hand on his gun, drawing it when the man ignored him. I also pulled out mine. " _Sir_."

"Max Poole," Hotch came up behind me with his Glock at the ready. This stopped the unsub dead in his tracks. "We have your address, Max, there's no place to go."

"This is Agent Rossi, Max. If you do what you're thinking, you won't get to tell them I lied," Rossi said. "Come on, Max. Slowly put your hands on top of your head."

"Listen to him, Max. I know what you're thinking and you don't have to do it," I piped up, knowing he was probably going to commit suicide, most likely by us.

"It doesn't have to end here, Max," Rossi added. " _Please_."

It looked like Max was about to pull something out of his pocket as the elevator opened up beside him. Morgan stepped out and Max drew his weapon. I raised my gun, seeing Hotch's in my periphery.

"DOWN!" Hotch shouted, causing Morgan to get on the ground, drawing his own gun as he slid onto on his back.

But it was Rossi who fired the two shots into Max Poole.

I stepped over Morgan's legs and crouched down beside Poole. He was on his back, his eyes wide open. I snatched the gun out of his grasp to be safe, putting my fingers on his neck. Then I looked at Morgan, who was catching his breath.

"You okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned. Morgan and I were pretty close friends.

"Yeah."

"He's gone," I reported to Hotch, not feeling a pulse from Max Poole.

"What about Enid White?" Yarbrough asked, coming over to the scene.

"We have his home address," Hotch told him.

"Is she there?" the detective asked.

"Let's hope so."

I stood and extended a hand to Morgan, even though there was no way he'd need my help to get up. He humored me and I pulled him up to the best of my ability. He let go and followed Hotch as he and Yarbrough walked away. I looked over at Rossi, who was staring at Poole's corpse. It was as if he was in contemplation. I stepped towards him and put my hand on his shoulder.

"Come on," I cocked my head and followed Morgan.

* * *

By the time we found Enid White at Max Poole's house, it was dark and the kids of Carrollton, Texas were out trick-or-treating. I stood with Reid, Prentiss, and Morgan, handing out candy across the police tape. JJ was speaking to the press while Hotch and Rossi stood off to the side, watching Enid get carted onto an ambulance.

"Have we decided if we like him or not?" Emily gestured over to Rossi.

"He may not be the best team player, but he didn't hesitate to save Morgan's life," I told her, handing a Reese's Cup to a girl dressed as a fairy. "I say we give him a chance."


	3. Identity

**"A popular theory** among leading astrophysicists estimates that the hypermatter reactor would need about ten to the thirty-second joules of energy to destroy a planet the size of earth," Reid said.

Emily and I exchanged glances.

"Now, Lucas said it took nineteen years to build the first Death Star, right?" Reid continued as a painter stepped out of Rossi's new office. "But if you look at the new essential chronology, there's a testbed super laser that spans—where are you going?"

Morgan had gotten up from his desk and started walking towards the stairs, "Taking back the last five minutes of my life."

"You can't go in there," Reid said, getting up from the desk he was sitting on.

"Don't you wanna know about this guy?"

"I do," Emily raised her hand and got up.

"Ooh, me too," I followed shortly afterward.

"I've got it all memorized," Reid said. "His books, his bio…"

"Yeah, books have sold over a million copies," Morgan climbed the stairs.

"So?"

"That's a million reasons not to come back," I grinned, rubbing my fingertips together to imply wealth.

I passed Reid, who chose not to go up the stairs and entered the bare office. There was a desk and a box on it. They were both covered by an off-white tarp. The room smelled strongly of paint, of course, but it wasn't too unbearable.

"Huh, taupe walls," Emily paced around. "That's a negative color. Cold, distant. You know, emotionally, taupe is linked to loneliness _and_ the desire to escape from the world."

"I figured his walls would be covered with plaques and commendations," I said, a finger against my chin. I noticed that Reid was standing in the doorway. "I mean, I practically _majored_ in David Rossi."

"Hmm, maybe he doesn't want to be reminded of past victories. It's a new chapter for him," Emily theorized.

"Well, whatever happened to the moratorium on inter-team profiling, guys?" Reid asked, taking a careful step inside.

"Come on, Reid. Team? I don't think this guy knows the meaning of the word," Morgan said a little harshly.

"Hey, Morgan, that's not fair," I shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. "Give him time to adjust. We probably do things a little differently than they used to."

Morgan pulled a framed painting out from under the tarp. "Oh, I found something." Reid looked out the door and came closer. "Looks like some type of religious art. Original, maybe." He handed the artwork to Reid. "Definitely expensive."

Reid blew out some hair, raising his eyebrows. "It's Renaissance art. If that's original…"

"Is it?" I wondered, looking at it.

"I don't know, it's kinda hard to tell," Reid kept examining it. "It means he's into the classics."

"What else?" Morgan asked.

"Uh, Italian, strict Catholic upbringing, probably believes in redemption," Reid told us.

"Oh, I believe in a lot of things," Rossi said, entering the office with a folder in his hand.

I gulped. I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused that we were in there, blatantly profiling him.

"Catholic, yes. Italian-American, fifty-two years. Strict upbringing, not so much," Rossi was leaning against his window, but then pushed himself off to step closer to us. "Now the artwork, that's fifteenth-century, original. Cost more than my first house. And as for the wall color, it's just a base coat. Painters will come in and finish tomorrow. Now, if you're all finished, I think JJ and Hotch are ready for us." He looked over at Morgan with a knowing smile on his face. "Isn't that how a team works?"

Reid was the first to exit the office. Morgan, who looked irritated, followed him, and Emily came after. I don't know what possessed me to hesitate, but I turned my head and looked at Rossi.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "That was wicked inappropriate of us."

Rossi dismissed my apology with a wave of his hand. "So, I heard you say that you basically majored in me at college. And Hotch also said that you were my 'protégé'."

"Well, your work certainly influenced a lot of my decisions," I bounced my eyebrows, still trying to play it cool.

"Your name is Hunter, right?"

"Yeah," I nodded, instinctively preparing to hear him ask if that was supposed to be a boy's name. Everyone said that. It got old pretty quickly.

"I think I like that on a girl," he smiled.

I gulped, a memory flooding back to my mind. I couldn't help the goofy grin that made its way onto my face. "You, um, actually told me that when we met the first time."

Rossi furrowed his brow. "We've met before?"

"Kind of, yeah. It was just a book signing. Don't worry, I'm not offended that you don't remember. I'm not that memorable," I chuckled and headed out of the office to the round table room, where Morgan was making himself some coffee.

"Great Falls, Montana," JJ said, standing before the big screen as I stepped inside. Displayed on it were the faces of three brunette women. "Over the past fourteen months, three women have been reported missing."

Rossi came in and yet again chose the seat next to me. I opened up my file and tried to ignore the burning sensation in my cheeks. I was pushing thirty, why did I still have such a _crush_?

"Michelle Lawford, Jennifer Hillbridge, and Darcy Cranwell," JJ pointed at their respective faces. "All young Caucasian brunettes. After an extensive search, all were presumed dead by local authorities."

"So at least we know he has a type," Emily gave me a look, knowing that I fit said type.

"Great," I sighed.

"And now there's a fourth woman," JJ clicked the remote and two new pictures showed up. "Angela Miller. This morning she and her car went missing from a small grocery store while her husband and son were inside."

"This morning?" I raised my eyebrows.

" _Montana_ 's requesting our help?" Rossi's voice had an incredulous tone to it.

"Forty minutes later, state troopers spotted Angela Miller's car on the highway," JJ said.

"And when troopers tried to apprehend the driver, he blew himself up with a grenade, putting one of the troopers in the ICU," Hotch added.

"Are they sure that she wasn't in the car with him?" Reid asked.

"They went through the wreckage and it appears she's still missing," JJ said.

"Troopers get a look at the guy?" Morgan wondered.

"Caucasian, stocky, brown hair, mustache. Early forties. He has a scar on the left side of his face."

"Do you think Angela Miller's still alive?" Morgan leaned in towards Hotch.

"Since the other missings were never found, we don't know, but he only had her for forty minutes, so we have to assume she is," Hotch said.

* * *

"You know, I could've gotten you a coloring book at the airport," Emily joked, acknowledging the map that Reid was drawing on with marker.

"I'm creating a topographical map," Reid told her from his seat beside her at the table. I was sitting beside Morgan, across from Emily, "weighing down and geocoding all key locations, looking for algorithms."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I thought you were doing," Emily said facetiously.

I grinned at her from over my file. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Rossi making a face from a swiveling chair nearby. I could tell he was still getting used to us and our idiosyncrasies. Reid would probably take the longest. He really was one of a kind.

"It's called a jeopardy surface," Hotch said from behind Morgan and me. I looked back and saw that he was making himself a mug of tea. "It's a way of narrowing down where the unsub could reside."

"And by default, where he may be stashing Angela Miller," Reid said, never looking up from his map.

"You know, it says here the guy had a fully loaded gun, so we know he had options. Why the grenade?" Morgan asked as Hotch sat down on the couch with JJ.

"He wants to be remembered," Rossi said. "And he wanted to be sure to take as many cops with him as possible. He knows he's outgunned. So he waits, times it to the last second. Boom! There are some very committed people in those parts."

"Who love their firepower," Hotch said.

"Almost as much as they hate us," Rossi and Hotch exchanged a look. I recalled hearing that Rossi had been at Ruby Ridge back in 1992. He had also been at Waco the next year. I could only imagine how much he disliked these types of people.

"Militia," I rolled my eyes.

"And they're heavily armed," Reid said.

"Yeah, but, ugh, _hand grenades_?" Emily scoffed.

"It's not uncommon for militia members to have military experience. Oftentimes they resent the structure and they get discharged, and they form their own paramilitary governments," he explained.

"Dental records are on their way to Garcia," JJ said, fiddling with her phone. "I'll tell her to check the military first."

"Prentiss and I will go meet the husband," Hotch said.

"I can walk the other abduction sites," Morgan said.

"Everybody else, set up base, work on geographical profiles, establish contact with the locals, and tread carefully," Hotch warned. "They'll be watching us."

* * *

"Hi, this is Agent Jareau with the FBI and—" JJ paused and removed the phone from her ear. "That's the third time I've been hung up on."

"Try not saying FBI," Rossi suggested from the table we were standing at.

"Who was that?" Reid asked from the bulletin board.

"Contact for a local militia newsletter," JJ told him.

"Yeah, drop the FBI part," I nodded.

"A woman is _missing_. You'd think these people would want to help us," she waved her hands in frustration.

"They do wanna help. The missing woman, not us," Rossi told her just as her phone began to ring.

"Go ahead, Garcia," she answered the call, holding out the phone so we could all hear the analyst on speaker.

" _You were spot on, crime fighters. Military records match. Francis Goehring, forty-two years old. Did a year in the army before a bad conduct discharge, highlight of which was an arrest during a bar brawl in which three other people were hospitalized. Uh, he also appears in the federal database for…get this,_ aggressive _militia groups_ ," Garcia told us.

"Aggressive militia groups," JJ all but rolled her eyes at me. "Is there any other type?"

" _Uh-huh. That's your federal government at work. We specialize in redundancy_."

"You see a last known address?" Rossi asked, stepping closer to the phone.

" _A compound just outside of town. It's coming your way. Oh, he also has a wife that doesn't appear to live with him. Diane Marie Goehring, lives in Shelby a few hours away_."

"Have the state police bring in the wife. Hunter and I will go make friends with his neighbors," Rossi looked at me.

I was taken aback. Everyone called me McCarthy except for Emily, the other exception being Morgan who'd taken to calling me Mick. It was kind of nice to hear Rossi call me Hunter. My name only ever caused me annoyances in the past, but now I liked it.

"Thanks, Garcia," JJ hung up and I followed Rossi out to the Suburban.

* * *

We pulled into the compound and found a quaint scene. A young girl was throwing rocks into a pit, a man was scooping out his horse pen, and an older woman was sitting on a swing. She got up as I opened the passenger door of the Suburban and stepped out, my aviator sunglasses pulled over my eyes. She stared at us blankly and it sort of put me off. I met Rossi at the hood of the SUV and we approached the base of the compound.

"Gee, isn't this friendly," I sighed, looking at all of the handmade 'NO TRESPASSING' signs. One in particular said 'KEEP MONTANA ARMED'.

I made a fist and knocked on the door. An older man came to the screen. He looked like a mix between dazed and angry.

"What the hell do you want?" he asked. "Can't you read?"

"I'm not a Girl Scout, sir," I slid my sunglasses to the top of my head, reached into my back pocket, and grabbed my badge to show him. "I'm with the FBI."

"FBI?" he asked with an insulting amount of confusion in his voice. "You're not serious. You're a little lady. I could snap you like a twig."

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"But then, she isn't alone," Rossi stepped forward, displaying his credentials as well. "We're here because this was the address listed for Francis Goehring."

"I haven't seen him in months," the man said defensively.

"We'd like to see his residence."

The man turned to close the wooden door, but Rossi forced the screen door open.

"Francis Goehring abducted three women. We're looking for a fourth," he held up a picture of Angela Miller. "Now, he took her while her husband and son were in a store. This isn't about us, it's about a woman from your community."

The man glared at Rossi, flashing his eyes towards me. "I'll show you his place." He exited through the door and led us around the trailer. He left us to put our rubber gloves on and we entered the ramshackle bungalow that Goehring had apparently been residing in.

"Mostly just junk mail," I commented, picking up some of the fliers stacked on Goehring's kitchen counter. Rossi had gone past me and into what could pass as a living room. "Catalogs for firearms, survival preparedness."

"He doesn't sleep here," Rossi concluded, looking at a pathetic cot.

"Postmarks are new," I looked at some of the other mail on top of the fridge. "He probably just uses this address for mail."

"Odd choice of reading material," Rossi said.

I entered the living room and saw what he was referring to. There was a stack of books by the cot, all about feudal times. "He's a bit more cultured than I gave him credit for."

Rossi kicked a long green box on the floor. The lock fell off and he crouched down to open it. I squatted by his side. There was a firearm encased in the box, a photo of Goehring and a brunette woman in the corner.

"This picture seems old. It's part of a past life," he said, holding it up. "We need to find where his new life is. Do you know how Reid's map is coming along?"

"No idea," I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the doctor's number. "Hey, Reid, how far did you get on that map?"

" _Uh, I've got it narrowed down to, uh, about a thirty mile radius, but I'm still refining it_ ," he replied.

"Thanks, friend," I hung up. "Thirty mile radius so far."

"Well, Hotch seems to think he was on foot. That's a long walk," Rossi said.

"He's not done yet," I said, watching Rossi take the layer the gun and picture were on out of the box, revealing Goehring's old army duds.

"Good," Rossi felt along the crumpled uniform. He lifted up a hat and found something. "Hello." He lifted up a stack of tapes. "Home movies."

* * *

" _An earthly kingdom…cannot exist without the inequality of persons_ ," said Goehring on the tapes. He was one of the ugliest motherfuckers I'd ever seen in my life. His brown hair was high and tight, his eyes were icy blue, and he had a thick mustache, as well as a large mole on one cheek and a scar on the other. I was sitting in the Great Falls Police Department with Rossi, Emily, and Reid, watching his video. " _Martin Luther understood the weak will_ always _serve the strong. Like me_ ," Goehring leaned forward in his chair, " _he had dreams. And ideas_." He got up and manipulated the camera.

"It's funny, he uses the chair like it's a throne, and he's-he's framing himself intentionally with a low angle to give him power and dominance in the frame," Reid analyzed as Goehring sat back down.

" _In feudal times, the lord lived on high ground to spot the invader. He had serfs to serve his kingdom. The lord never had to leave his castle. The serfs would bring him everything. They were the appendages of his will_."

"We have eleven more tapes of this?" Emily asked, dejectedly.

"It's his manifesto," I pulled my knees up to my chest in the chair I was sitting next to Rossi in.

" _First, I will build a compound, a kingdom. Second, I will protect, arm, and fortify my kingdom. Third, I will keep women as serfs to serve my every need. This is my right. As a man with free will in America, I will make my kingdom a reality_."

"Well, we know he's moved out of his house," Rossi said as Goehring got up again. "My guess is that kingdom is a reality now."

"Hey, he talks about keeping women to serve him," Emily pointed her pen to the screen. "It's possible all these women are still alive."

"Excuse me," JJ entered the room. "Goehring's wife is here."

We went to another room to meet Diane, a brunette woman who seemed to want nothing to do with us. I decided to take the lead and talk with her while everyone, including Hotch, sat and watched. I sat in a chair across from her, a stack of pictures in my hand.

"Thank you for coming in to speak with us, Mrs. Goehring," I said.

"Did I have a choice?" she glared.

"We need your help," I told her.

"If I don't _have_ to be here, _goodbye_ ," she started to get up.

"Um, is this you?" I asked, holding up a hand to stop her. I put the picture of her and Francis on the table and slid it closer to her. "That _is_ you, isn't it?"

She settled back into her seat and took the picture. "Where did you get this?"

"Have you seen this woman?" I asked, putting down the picture of Angela Miller.

"Today, on the news."

"Well, you probably saw these three women on the news as well," I laid out the pictures of the other victims. "We think they all share something in common."

"What?" she asked coldly.

"They all look like you," I said. "A pattern. A type. You and all of these women fit a type." I could feel Rossi's eyes on me. "When was the last time you saw your husband?"

Diane opened and closed her mouth several times before actually saying anything. "I…I haven't seen him s-since we threw him out."

"We?" I raised my eyebrows.

"The militia. They saw what-what he did to me, and threw him out," she said.

"What he did to you?"

Diane looked at me and gulped before averting her tearful gaze and leaning her face away from me. Whatever happened had clearly traumatized her.

"Francis killed himself yesterday," Hotch said.

"He's-He's dead?" Diane asked me.

"After being caught driving Angela Miller's car," Rossi added.

"Can you think of anywhere that he would've taken these women?" I asked.

Diane shook her head.

"Your husband was sadistic," Rossi got up from the desk he was sitting on and came to my side. Then he leaned down in front of her, hands on his knees. "He hurt you, made you do horrible things. He treated you like a slave." I could tell Diane was getting more and more upset. "Did what he wanted whenever he wanted. He did the same thing to those other women, only they didn't have the militia to save them."

Diane looked up at him, trying hard to hold back her tears, but she didn't say anything.

"Francis said that his dream started with nine acres," Hotch said. "What's he talking about?"

"My parents' land," she sniffed. "When-When-When they died, he made me give it to him."

"Where is it?" Hotch asked. Reid got up and brought his map over so she could point him in the right direction.

* * *

Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan had driven out to Diane's parents' former home with the local Sheriff Williams. Unfortunately, Goehring's latest victim had been found in a shallow pit with two exit wounds in her chest—only Goehring wasn't the one who shot her.

"Angela's been dead for no more than a half an hour. The partner was just here," Hotch explained when Emily, JJ, Reid, and I finally got to the property. He, Morgan, Williams, and Rossi were crowding around the hood of one of the Suburbans, looking at the map.

Emily and I started walking around the flat farmland. But it took a little while to find anything of note. Emily was the one who noticed the rosebushes.

"The hell is this?" she muttered. "Hey guys?" she called over as I crouched down to look at the plants. Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Williams came over. "There are three sections of roses. Different heights, different levels of maturity."

"Three different women," Hotch said, crouching in front of me.

"These appear to be the most recently planted," I said, gesturing to the roses I was in front of. "The tags are still on them," I dug into the leaves and found something kind of gross.

Reid squatted next to me. "Carrion beetles," he said.

"Like in a cemetery," Emily added.

"Sheriff, let's get some shovels, we need to start digging," Hotch said.

* * *

"Didn't find any explosives. Nothing rigged, but be careful," Williams warned as he led us into the house. It had to be swept first to ensure our safety.

"Odd," Rossi stepped in, allowing us to step past him and start investigating. "Goehring kept his house almost cozy."

I went into the kitchen with Emily and Reid. We all put our rubber gloves on and started looking around.

"'One, all actions must serve to please the Master. Two, insubordination will result in punishment'," Emily read off a poster taped to the hardwood wall. "This is his new manifesto."

"Notice how 'Master' is singular and capitalized," Reid said, taking a picture off the fridge, "emphasizing there's only one dominant partner."

"So his partner's more of a servant," I said.

"Or a serf," Reid said. "Watching the house, minding that lawn, helping abduct women."

He handed me the picture. It was Goehring in a double denim get-up otherwise known as a Canadian tuxedo. He was posing by a butte with a gun in his hand. I gave the picture to Emily.

"Okay, so if his partner's a serf, what are the female slaves for?" she asked.

"Oh, I think I can answer that," Rossi stepped into the kitchen. He gestured for us to follow him into the bedroom, where lie many a medieval torture apparatus.

"Now we know why the victims were taken so far apart," Reid said, going towards the chair. "They tortured them. It took time to die."

"This is where they kept them. The blood's fresh," Hotch said from the closet. He was crouching by a coffin-like box.

"What the hell is this?" Emily asked, unscrewing and holding up an instrument.

"The pear of anguish," Reid told her.

I grimaced, remembering that particular device from a history class I took in college. I turned away and saw Rossi squatting by the bed.

"I've got something here," he stood up and lifted the bedframe up vertically. There were a bunch more devices chained to the wire netting. Rossi scoffed. "Homemade torture tools."

"They covered the floor with something," I said, gesturing to the clean carpet. "I bet the bodies are wrapped in whatever it was."

"They must have kept these women in that box for months," he continued. "Judging by these tools, there will be a considerable amount of mutilation. We need to do what we can to help their families give a proper burial."

* * *

"Goehring's partner is early-to-mid-twenties. Five-eight. Slight build. Shy and retiring, but groomed by a separatist armed with assault weaponry," Hotch said as we delivered the profile. "Like Goehring, he's unlikely to surrender if he's cornered."

"His obsession with cleanliness and order is deeply ingrained. This will be reflected in his home and his vehicle," Emily said.

"Uh, we've located hair samples in the cabin that we believe are his. Medium-short length and blonde," Reid added.

"He's the submissive partner," Rossi said. "But having just lost Goehring, the man he was dedicated to and heavily dependent upon, he's in crisis."

* * *

After they'd watched every tape with Garcia, Reid and Emily came to the conclusion that the partner was in love with Goehring. They also figured that said partner would have had to buy a lot of roses, so they went to flower shops and nurseries, asking around. JJ discovered that the partner was a man named Henry Frost who actually worked at one of the shops.

And Frost had wound up at a gas station where he ran into a young woman and forced her into the trunk of her own car. The woman running the convenience store witnessed the attack and tried to shoot at the car as Frost drove off. She'd just sold him a beer and pumpkin seeds and had caught him on her security camera. Frost dyed his hair, grew out a mustache. He also had a bandage on his cheek because he'd cut his face to create a scar like Goehring's. In fact, he'd changed his entire appearance to look like Goehring.

"Sheriff, he's taken on Goehring's persona. We have to assume he's going to behave the same way," Hotch said to Williams in the office when they came back from the gas station. I was standing near Emily, who was reading a book about the Spanish Inquisition. "He's heavily armed and he's committed to his cause."

"If he's caught, he's not only willing to die, but to take as many of us with him as possible," Rossi said. They stopped near us.

"He's got a hostage, which means I'm gonna need the best sharpshooter you've got."

"That's fine, but we don't even know where this guy's headed," Williams twanged.

"The team's been working the profile, and we think we've got something."

"In the tapes, Goehring makes several mentions of ideal land," Emily said.

"Uh, he also said that lords live on higher ground to better surveil the land and spot invaders," Reid added.

"He studied medieval defense strategies, so he'll probably go to a place where he can protect himself," Morgan held a book open to a picture of an old kingdom.

"High ground, easily defendable," I said.

Emily stepped forward to the bulletin board. "This picture was on Goehring's fridge," she unpinned it and handed it to Williams. "Do you know where that is?"

"That's Black Eagle Peak. Militia groups used to use it for training drills 'til the state stopped 'em," he answered, handing the picture to Hotch. Reid stepped forward and gave him his map so he could point it out.

"Ideal land," Hotch said to Emily.

We drove out to Black Eagle Peak and met the sheriff.

"My guy's got eyes on 'im," Williams said. "He's on the very top of the peak on the far side of that ridge. He'll see us coming."

"He already knows if he's using that police scanner," Emily pointed out, putting her bulletproof vest on.

"Well, we gotta find a way to get up there," Morgan said.

"We'll never be able to get close enough. How's it going with the sharpshooter?" Rossi asked Williams.

"Who's that?" I slid my aviators onto my face, staring at the man who got out of the truck behind our Suburban.

"Oh, you can't be serious," Morgan turned to Williams. I heard that Rossi had made Morgan go into a militia bar near Diane Goehring's parents' house. This guy must have been there. And he clearly made an impression.

"You asked for the best. He's it," Williams said. "Ex-special forces sniper."

"He's a civilian," Rossi said.

"He's militia," Morgan spat.

"I deputized him," Williams countered. "He knows the terrain like nobody else."

The man came over to our powwow. "Wind in this valley will change the trajectory of a shot by inches. If you can't read the wind, the wrong person might get shot. I guess I don't need to remind you gentlemen of that," he gave us a pointed glance.

Yep. Definitely militia.

"We can handle this," Morgan said.

"Good luck with that…"

"Hey, it might not come down to it if we don't get moving. I'll go with him," Rossi cocked his head toward the man.

"You want to flank around the west side of the mountain?" Williams asked the man.

"Eh, if he's on the north, I'll get a better view from the east ridge. It's steeper, higher ground. Get a clear shot from there," the man said.

"If you see the shot, call it," Hotch muttered to Rossi, handing him a walkie-talkie.

"Good," Rossi replied.

"Channel twenty-three, keep it open. McCarthy and I will go with the sheriff. We'll stay at the base and try to distract him. Go up through the northeast and through the middle," Hotch said to Emily and Morgan. I slipped my vest on and fastened it, meanwhile. "Keep your head down."

I opened the door to the sheriff's truck and slid into the middle seat, making sure to leave enough leg room for the men. Williams then drove us down to the base of the butte. When we got out, I could faintly see Henry Frost bobbing around. Hotch thrust the walkie-talkie into my hand.

"Do me proud," he said, holding the megaphone up to his mouth. "FRANCIS GOEHRING? CHANNEL TWO."

"All we wanna do is talk to you. Let me know you can hear me," I said into the walkie.

"YEAH, I CAN HEAR YOU," Frost hollered down. I could tell that he lifted up the newly kidnapped woman, Becky, and held her in front of him. "THIS IS _MY_ LAND! YOU UNDERSTAND?! NOT YOURS! AND _YOU_ WILL _LEAVE_! OR SHE DIES!"

" _No shot. We've gotta distract Frost. Get him away from Becky_ ," Rossi said through the walkie.

"How are we gonna do that?" Williams asked.

Hotch held up his binoculars and looked up. "He's not Goehring. He can't do this."

"He shot Angela Miller in the back."

I stepped out from behind the truck and held my arms up in the air, "ALL I WANNA DO IS TALK!"

"YOU WANNA TALK? THEN GO AHEAD AND TALK! BUT YOU COME ANY CLOSER AND SHE GETS THE BULLET! YA HEAR ME?!" Frost yelled back. "HUH? SHE'S GONNA BE THE FIRST TO GO, I SWEAR!"

I went back behind the truck and spoke into the walkie-talkie, "We know a lot about you, Henry. We know your name is Henry Frost. We know you're twenty-five years old. We know that your dad kicked you out of the house when you were fifteen. He was a drunk and he abused and abandoned you. And ever since then, your life has been a series of jails and institutions, and it's been hell."

"SHUT UP!" Frost screamed. "NO!"

"Henry, just let the girl go," I pleaded. "And I'll clear everybody out and you and I can just talk. And I'll let you touch my hair. See?" I stepped out again and ran a hand through my hair. "Francis liked the brunettes, didn't he? I'll let you play with it. That's a promise. It doesn't have to end like this."

"YES IT DOES! YES IT DOES! AND IT WILL!"

I could barely make out that he was pointing his gun at Becky. "Henry, let her go. Henry, _let her go_!"

 _CRACK!_

Becky screamed. And I could tell that Frost had been shot by the militia man. I saw Morgan and Emily climb to the top of the peak and check to see if Frost was still alive. Emily untied Becky from whatever Frost had bound her with.

"Good job, McCarthy," Hotch clapped my shoulder.

"What can I say? I learned from the best," I smirked, looking over to where Rossi had probably been.


	4. Lucky

**"With a name** like _McCarthy_ , you'd think you'd have a little better luck," Emily deadpanned from beside me.

"You're telling me," I sighed, gathering the playing cards strewn across my desk. I'd just spent the last ten minutes trying to build a house of cards, but something would always make it fall down before I could finish, whether it be someone walking by or just plain clumsiness. "God is not looking out for me."

"Says the atheist," Emily snorted and rolled her chair back over to her side of the desk. She trained her eyes on the entrance of our office. "Huh, Morgan and Garcia are sure taking their time on their morning sweet talk."

I looked over my shoulder and saw my two coworkers standing by the door. From what I could make out, the conversation was becoming a little serious, and then JJ came in with a stack of case files. She seemed like she was in a tizzy, handing Morgan one of them and fast-walking up the stairs.

Not too soon afterward, we were herded into the round table room. Emily and I sat together near, you guessed it, David Rossi.

"Bridgewater, Florida," JJ began, showing us both a driver's license picture _and_ a crime scene photo of the same young woman with curly blonde hair. From the second image, it looked as though she'd had every digit cut off of her hand. Disturbing, to say the least. "Local girl, Abbey Kelton, nineteen. Left her parents' home to go to the local junior college. She never came home. Three days later, joggers found her—part of her—in a nearby park." A second picture showed up. All ten fingers had actually been removed, as well as the lower part of her body.

"What did that to her?" Emily asked.

"Bridgewater's off of I-75, which is often referred to as Alligator Alley, for reasons that are now apparent. Everything below the waist had been eaten."

"Ah, the circle of life," Rossi sighed.

"Suddenly I don't feel so guilty about my alligator wallet," Emily added.

"Alligators didn't cut off her fingers, slit her throat, or carve this into her chest," Hotch slid down another picture of Abbey.

"An inverted pentagram," Morgan picked it up.

"Locals believe the killing was committed by a Satanic cult," JJ said.

"Some things never change," Rossi commented.

"Killer Satanic cults don't exist. They were debunked as a suburban myth," Emily told him.

I had to try not to laugh at the look he gave her. His face was the personification of a sarcastic, ' _Really?_ '

"What?" Emily furrowed her brow.

"Rossi's the one that debunked them," I muttered, covering the side of my mouth in a joking manner. Beside me, the agent in question smiled at her.

"Oh, right. Thanks," Emily said softly.

"Cult or not, the killing was ritualized. This will turn serial if it hasn't already," Rossi glanced at the screen.

"So, killer Satanic cults don't exist, but Satanic serial killers do?" JJ asked.

" _Lasciate ogni speranza ch'entrate_ ," he recited as he stood, smacking his file down on the table.

"Oh, thanks for clearin' that up," JJ said sarcastically, eyeing the door Rossi just walked out of.

"Uh, it's from Dante's _Inferno_ ," Reid explained. "Uh, 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here'."

"So that was a yes."

Hotch looked up from his file, "A big yes."

* * *

"We never found any evidence of a killer Satanic cult," Rossi said from his swiveling chair. "In reality there are only two types of violent Satanic criminals."

"Uh, type one—teen Satanists assume the Satanic identity to rebel. Minor crimes, theft and vandalism to churches, schools, symbols of authority. When combined with drugs and alcohol, they may turn violent," Reid interjected beside me on the couch.

"Yes, in extreme cases, deadly," Rossi turned to the doctor. "That was out of my book word for word."

"Oh, trust us, we know," Morgan said from the table.

"Killings are accidental, usually resulting from their hobby getting out of control," Reid continued. "Killings won't turn serial—"

"Hey, Reid," Morgan murmured, gesturing for him to cut it out.

The doctor looked back at Rossi, who was staring at him like he'd grown three heads. "Sorry," Reid whispered.

"Okay, so that's one type. What's type two?" Emily looked over her shoulder to Rossi.

"The adaptive Satanist is the one you have to worry about," he told her. "The typical serial killer rationalizing his fantasies by blaming outside forces."

"Like Satan," I rolled my eyes. I always thought that was a dumb excuse.

"Yes. He adapts Satanic beliefs to fit his specific homicidal drives. He doesn't kill because he believes in Satan," Rossi tilted his head to look at me past Reid. "He believes in Satan because he kills."

"Well, let's hope it's the teenagers. Whether you're religious or not, the presence of Satanic elements can affect even the most experienced investigators. And we're not immune, so keep an eye on the locals and keep an eye on each other," Hotch said.

"I-I hear you," JJ said from beside him. "I saw _The Exorcist_."

"My mother took us to church every Sunday until I moved out. This whole _devil_ thing doesn't spook me at all," Morgan looked at his case file.

"Maybe that's because you never truly bought the God part either," Reid said.

Morgan looked up at him. "No offense, kid, but you don't know what I believe."

"Well, I mean, logic dictates that if you believe in the one, you have to reconcile the existence of the other."

"People's reactions to Satan is what gives it appeal to these offenders," Hotch cut in. "It has power. And it would be a mistake to underestimate it."

* * *

Hotch, Reid, and Emily had met with Detective Jordan, a hardboiled, Hawaiian shirt-wearing, cigar-smoking, Louis CK-looking kind of man. The four of them went to the medical examiner's office to see what was left of Abbey Kelton's body. Meanwhile, Rossi, JJ, Morgan, and I went to speak with her parents at their church.

"Mick, do me a favor," Morgan stopped as we approached the house of worship, grabbing my upper arm to get my attention. "You talk to the priest, all right?"

"You'd rather interview the grieving parents on the worst day of their lives than the priest?" Rossi asked before I could even answer. He was standing directly behind me.

"If that's all right with you, yeah," Morgan said with a slight tone, absentmindedly tightening the hold on my arm. Rossi and JJ headed for the door. His grip loosened and his voice became soft. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not," I smiled, sliding my aviators onto my scalp. "Whatever you need." He let go of my arm and we followed Rossi and JJ into the church.

"Good afternoon," said the bald man who descended the stairway by the entrance.

"Hi, Father Marks," JJ shook his hand. "Agent Jareau. These are Agents Rossi, McCarthy, and Morgan."

"Yeah, it's good of you to come," the priest said, shaking our hands.

"We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances," Rossi said.

"Well, Abbey's parents, Bob and Lee-Ann, are in my office. We were…discussing her service," Marks explained.

"Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you," Rossi continued, to my surprise. Morgan himself did a nervous double-take.

"Well, uh, they're upstairs. First door on the right, and they're expecting you," Marks nodded at Rossi.

The older agent nodded back, then glanced at Morgan. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to stay with Morgan at first, but then he put a hand on my shoulder blade and directed me to follow JJ up the stairs.

Bob and Lee-Ann were sitting in two chairs before Marks' desk. While Bob was clearly distraught, Lee-Ann appeared more put-together, as if she were "the rock" in this situation.

"We're so sorry for your loss," JJ told them, holding a stack of photos.

"They say we can't have an open casket, so we need to choose a picture," Lee-Ann said. "I didn't know which one to use, so I brought them all."

"She's beautiful," JJ whispered, shuffling through the photos.

"Her first steps?" Rossi asked, nodding at the picture JJ was on. He stepped forward until he was beside me from where I sat on the desk.

"Oh, Bob took that," Lee-Ann chuckled, leaning forward to see the photo before JJ handed me the stack. "Thank God, I would've missed it. I was at a church retreat for the weekend."

Rossi took the photo he'd pointed out and smiled at Abbey's parents. "Pretty young to be walking," he said.

"Nine months," Lee-Ann looked so proud. "Youngest girl in the whole neighborhood to walk. First to swim, too. That's Abbey."

"When's her birthday?" I asked.

"Uh, July twenty-eighth," Lee-Ann told me.

"Isn't that Leo?" I asked Rossi.

"Mm," he nodded. "Headstrong, popular, generous, center of attention. Am I right?"

Bob looked like he was at his wits' end. Seeing him that upset put a lump in my throat. That right there was a loving father mourning over his daughter. I couldn't even begin to fathom how he was feeling. He reminded me of my own dad in a lot of ways.

"To a 'T'. That's Abbey," Lee-Ann beamed. "She was only seventeen when she graduated. She's studyin' to be a nurse."

" _Was_ ," Bob corrected in a broken voice.

Lee-Ann looked at him. "What's that, dear?"

"She _was_ studying to be a nurse."

I watched as the realization set on Lee-Ann's face. Her breath hitched and she hopped out of her seat. She wasn't being "the rock". The strength I thought I saw in her earlier was just denial. JJ followed her out of the office, leaving the tearful Bob alone with Rossi and me.

"I, uh, ahem, I made the identification," he said. Rossi took Lee-Ann's empty seat. "There was a sheet over her. Doc pulled it down just enough to see her face. But…I could tell. I could s-see from the way the sheet laid over her body that…" Bob struggled to continue with the sentence. "That something wasn't right. Detective Jordan won't tell me the details; he says I don't need to know. And Doc says I don't need to see." He looked up at me. "This is Abbey—this is my s-sweet Abbey. And I trust Doc. And I trust Detective Jordan. But you're from the FBI. And if you tell me that I don't-I don't need to see or I don't need to know, I'll believe you."

"Trust me, Mr. Kelton," I got off the desk and crouched in front of Bob and handed him the stack of pictures. "These are the memories you want to keep."

His hands shook as he took the photos. I could barely stand to watch him cry over the loss of his daughter.

I stood up and looked at Rossi. He gestured towards the door and we left to get JJ. When we went downstairs, Morgan was no longer talking to Father Marks. The priest offered no explanation as to why our teammate had left, but he walked us to the door.

"Thank you," he said, shaking our hands.

"Thank you, Father," Rossi replied.

"Take care," Marks smiled, turning to greet a family bearing Tupperware.

Morgan was leaning against the Suburban in the parking lot. He did not look happy. He stared down Rossi, who stared back, sliding his sunglasses onto face without a word. I raised my eyebrows at the shit-eating grin from the older agent, and slid behind the wheel to drive us to the station.

* * *

"There's no evidence that any of the local kids were into devil worship or the occult," Morgan reported as he paced. He, Rossi, Emily, and I were sitting in an office room together. Emily had just told us what the ME had found in Abbey's stomach and it was absolutely disgusting.

"No, this is not a group of teenagers," I shook my head, sipping from my cup of water. "This is a serial killer for sure."

"And, considering what he did with her fingers, a sadistic one," Emily added.

"That, I wouldn't say just yet," Rossi pointed at her.

"He cut off her fingers and he made her eat them," she said. "If that isn't sadistic—"

"If it was, that's the only sign of sadism present in the crime," he interrupted.

Emily nodded, standing corrected. "If he was purely a sadist, there would have been more signs of torture."

"The fingers must be a message," I looked at Rossi.

"What the hell's the message?" Morgan asked.

"'She's not my first'," Hotch said, coming into the room. "None of the fingers found in Abbey Kelton's stomach were hers. And six of them were index fingers."

* * *

I stood in the bathroom and stared into the large mirror. I wasn't sure if it was just the fluorescent lighting, but the dark circles and bags under my eyes looked terrible. I'd had trouble sleeping my whole life, sometimes going through intense periods of insomnia. Working cases like these didn't help.

Unwrapping my hair from the towel turban I'd wrestled it into once I stepped out of the shower, I threw a T-shirt on and slipped into a pair of plaid shorts. I brushed out my wet hair and French-braided it into pigtails. I looked like a five year-old, but I was beyond the point of caring.

 _Knock-knock!_

I threw the damp towel over the shower curtain and exited the bathroom to approach the door. I looked out the peephole and saw Morgan standing there in a wife-beater and sweatpants. I opened the door and gestured for him to come in.

"What's up, buttercup?" I asked.

"I can't sleep," he told me, sitting on the edge of my mattress.

I looked at the digital clock on my bedside table. "It's not even ten-thirty. Don't you think that's a bit early to give up?"

Morgan gave me a look before laying on his back, the heels of his hands pressed into his dark brown eyes. I watched his sculpted chest rise and fall dramatically as he took three deep breaths.

"You okay?" I folded my arms across my own chest, remembering that I wasn't wearing a bra.

"I fucked up," he said quietly.

"Derek Morgan fucked up _and_ he's admitting it?" I cocked a brow. "What did you do?"

"Penelope."

"What about her?" I asked, sitting on the opposite side of the mattress with my feet tucked underneath me.

"I think I really pissed her off," Morgan uncovered his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.

"How'd you manage to do that?"

"She told me she met a hot guy who hit on her," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I was just trying to be helpful."

"Oh no," I groaned. "Helpful in what way?"

"I told her that she shouldn't go out with him."

" _Why?_ "

"I…" Morgan sat up and shook his head. "It sounded fishy, Mick."

"How? What did she tell you about him?"

"She just said he was 'smoking hot' and he wanted to take her out."

"And you didn't think this was feasible?" I sighed. Morgan put his face in his hands. "On another note, why didn't she tell me about this hot guy?"

"Hey, she didn't even want to tell _me_ ," he pointed out.

"Oh, so you forced it out of her and _then_ insulted her? Nicely done."

"I didn't insult her," Morgan looked over at me.

"Hate to break it to you, bud, but that's not really up to you to decide. Do you see where her feelings are getting hurt, though?" I asked, toying with the tip of one of my braids. He didn't respond. "You implied that she was too unattractive—"

"I know, Mick," he interrupted. "I said that I fucked up."

"So what are you going to do about it?" I murmured.

"I'll let her cool off," Morgan sighed. "Call and apologize. Send her some flowers or something."

"Excellent idea, my friend," I clapped him on the back. "She can't stay mad at anyone for too long. Especially not you."

After playing a few card games with me, Morgan decided he was ready to go to bed. I'd walked him to my door and watched as he sauntered across the hall. But before I was able to shut my door, I noticed Rossi in the corridor, carrying a bucket of ice with him. He was wearing a bathrobe over his silk pajamas. He gave me a knowing grin and nodded his head to me as he approached his room next to mine.

"Night," I waved a hand before re-entering my room.

It wasn't until I turned my lights off and crawled under the covers that I began to realize how suspicious it might have looked to Rossi when Morgan left my room in the middle of the night. Nothing had happened—and nothing _would_ have happened—but I still felt nervous. The last thing I needed was for rumors of an inter-team romance to spread.

Not that Rossi seemed like the type of person to spread rumors.

I tossed and turned for what felt like hours. At first I was plagued with thoughts about Abbey Kelton's parents at the church. I hoped that somehow they would be able to make peace with what happened to their daughter, even though I knew from experience that would take such a long time.

Then I kept thinking about that smirk on Rossi's face in the hallway. He clearly assumed there was hanky-panky afoot. And there was no way to approach him about it without digging the hole any deeper. If I were in his shoes and someone came up to me to say, "Hey, you definitely weren't seeing what you might have thought you were seeing," I would become all the more suspicious.

And on top of all of this, I kept thinking about how stiff my mattress and pillows were. The more aware of this I became, the worse it got. No matter how much I tried to fluff my pillows, no matter what position I lay in, I was all the more uncomfortable.

I looked over at my bedside clock and saw that it was nearing one in the morning. My alarm was going to go off at six-thirty so I could meet Emily and get the complimentary breakfast. _If I fall asleep now, I'd have five and a half hours_ , I thought, closing my eyes. _Not bad. I've gotten less sleep before. But I'm wide awake right now. There's no way_.

Rolling over onto my stomach, I glanced over at the shades covering the sliding door that led out to the porch attached to my room. Moonlight was pouring through the spaces between the blinds, so I got up to try and fix them. As I twisted the blind wand (to no avail, I might add), I saw a figure on the porch beside me. I started twisting the wand the other way and peeked out at Rossi staring out over the ledge.

I pushed the blinds away and pulled open the door. Rossi turned his head to watch as I stepped onto the harsh concrete porch. I crossed my arms over my chest to combat the slight chill that settled around my body. My freshly-shaved legs were attacked with goosebumps.

"Morning," Rossi smiled, lifting up a glass of ice water in salute.

"Unfortunately," I said, stepping over to the edge of my porch closest to his.

"It's none of my business, of course," he began, coming over to mirror me, "but do you and Morgan usually _rendezvous_ at night?"

I felt my cheeks get hot and I chuckled. I _knew_ he suspected something. "No, I assure you that our friendship is shenanigan-free. He was seeking advice and couldn't sleep."

"Like you can't?" Rossi sipped his water.

"Right," I stifled a yawn. My fatigue was now catching up with me.

"What are you doing up at this hour?"

"Thinking," I shrugged. "And you?"

"Very much the same," he sighed, pulling something out of his bathrobe's pocket. It looked like a charm bracelet from what I could see. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I snickered. "Do _you_?"

"Fair enough."

The moonlight was hitting one half of his face. I could see him scrutinizing me. I gulped, the realization that one of my personal heroes was staring right at me setting in. He'd been working with us for a couple of weeks, but for some reason it hadn't really hit me that this was my life now. And in moments like this, I felt star-struck.

"Why did you come back?" I asked in a quiet voice.

"Unfinished business," Rossi took another sip and turned to his sliding door. "I'd get some sleep if I were you, McCarthy. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

* * *

"Abbey Kelton and ten others murdered by a serial killer here in Bridgewater," Hotch crossed the room and sat on a desk with his arms folded.

"Here?" Jordan asked in a gruff voice, cigar hanging out of his mouth. "How can you be sure?"

"These marks represent where the first ten disappeared," Hotch gestured towards the red yarn tacked onto the map. "The void in the center is his safety zone. He avoids killing near his home to escape detection, and the void's center is Bridgewater."

"Why would he violate his safety zone?" Jordan removed the cigar from his mouth. "No one knew he existed."

"Because no one knew he existed," Rossi told the detective from where he sat beside him. "That's why he left us the fingers."

"If he wants us to know, does he want us to catch him?"

"No. Killing gives him power. Our knowing gives him more. He won't stop. He's just getting started."

Jordan's cell phone began to ring. "Detective Jordan," he began to pace. I saw him sigh. "Yeah…yeah, I got it." He closed the flip-phone and looked up at Rossi. "You were right. He's just gettin' started."

* * *

"So, yesterday afternoon, Tracey Lambert told her roommate she was going for a hike," I recounted what we'd been briefed on. Rossi and I stepped into the public bathroom where Tracey had been abducted from.

"He was waiting for her," Rossi said, pushing a stall door open with his gloved hand.

"Blitz attack," I speculated. "Probably like Abbey Kelton's at the gas station."

"Our, um, unsub was likely in a mental institution," Rossi glanced at me.

"Why do you say that?" I cocked a brow.

"One. Neat. Aspect."

I stepped forward and looked into the stall. Four books had been left on the toilet lid, pushed together and standing upright. I looked back at Rossi for more explanation.

 _"The severely mentally ill have chaos all around 'em," David Rossi said. "When institutionalized, they're given order, taught to keep their rooms clean and neat. When discharged, they stop taking their meds—their minds fall back into chaos. But often, they do one thing to keep some order back into it," he pointed to the books, taking his eyes off the brunette for a second._

 _"Okay, I'll call Garcia, tell her to check state mental records," Hunter McCarthy nodded, pulling her cell phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. Her dark green eyes lingered on his face before she stepped out into the daylight._

 _Rossi stayed in the bathroom for a moment. He would never say it out loud, but he liked when Hotch paired him with her. He couldn't figure out what it was about her, but having McCarthy in his presence made him feel a certain way that he hadn't felt in a long time._

 _He knew she was a fan of his, no matter much she tried to hide it. Aaron Hotchner had all but confirmed it one night when they got dinner after work. The unit chief had a lot more time on his hands now that he and his wife were separated._

 _They'd discussed some of the members of the current BAU, though Rossi left out the time he'd caught half of them profiling him in his empty office. He mentioned Reid's enthusiasm and Morgan's attitude, but asked the most questions about McCarthy and found out that she'd read all of his books and attended a few of his lectures._

 _Rossi wondered how he'd ever managed to forget her at the book signing. She'd joked to him that she wasn't memorable, but he begged to differ. Maybe he'd been tired. Maybe he'd been cranky. Maybe he just hadn't been paying attention to her face when she got her book signed by him. Maybe it was a combination of the three. Those seemed to be the most likely options._

 _McCarthy's brown hair framed not only her angular face, but also her shapely bosom. The dark blue quarter-sleeved tunic she'd been wearing that day in the bathroom showed off her cleavage, but Rossi was a gentleman and made sure not to stare._

 _He heaved a great sigh and exited the bathroom, finding the agent in question. She was leaning against the outside of the building, grinning ear-to-ear as she talked to the technical analyst._

 _"Thank you, my darling dearest. Talk to you later," McCarthy said with a giggle. She hung up the phone and glanced over at the other agents and police officers investigating Tracey's abandoned vehicle, as well as the immediate area. "Garcia's on it."_

 _Rossi looked back at her just as Father Marks pulled up. Her catlike eyes flashed down to the base of his throat, where he'd left his top button undone to combat the Florida heat. Then she looked into his own eyes, smiled, and stepped away._

* * *

"Please have your IDs out and ready for the volunteer sign-in," JJ ordered as she and Emily manned the sign-in booth, handing out bottles of water.

I stood off to the side between Reid and Rossi, scoping out the masses who came to help out. We'd set up a search party to comb the wilderness in hopes of finding Tracey Lambert alive, or at least uneaten.

"As soon as you've signed in, move towards the staging area and officers will instruct you on search procedure," Emily added.

I noticed Rossi take a step and look around me at the other booth where Morgan reluctantly stood with Marks. But before I could try to analyze what Rossi might have been thinking, I felt a pair of eyes staring at me. I turned and saw the man serving chili at another booth behind us. He was a hairy, bespectacled man with a glazed-over look in his eyes. He smirked at me, ladling his food into paper cups. I faked a smile and turned back around. Rossi furrowed his brow at me, but I just shrugged.

About half an hour later, though, a woman named Sheryl Timmons from the search party was reported missing.

I stood with Emily in the police office, getting coffee as Hotch and Rossi talked with Sheryl's husband. Yawning, I ripped open a Splenda packet and dumped its components into my cup. I used a swizzle stick to stir it in, but the coffee was still too dark, so I poured two more in.

"I forgot you take your coffee like Reid," Morgan snickered, clapping my back as he approached the counter.

"I just can't stand the taste," I grimaced, stirring up my drink. Reid was notorious for using too much sugar, but he did it to give him an extra jolt of energy.

"How's it going with Father Marks?" Emily asked, and Morgan's demeanor started to deflate. "Any of the volunteers jump out at him?"

"Not yet," Morgan sighed.

Emily's phone rang. She seemed surprised when she saw the contact information. "Garcia? … Okay, I just sent you the volunteer search list … Pay attention to individuals who were involuntarily committed in Florida … Uh, Rossi's convinced our unsub is the type that likes to stick close to home," she ambled a small ways away. "Hey, Garcia, you normally call Morgan about these kinds of things. Are you okay?" Emily murmured in a voice I had to strain to hear. I noticed Morgan looking at our teammate, but I wasn't sure if he was eavesdropping like I was. "Okay, come on, tell me … Right, got it." Emily hung up and turned around to approach Morgan.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"When a woman tells a man about her feelings, she doesn't want him to fix her. She wants him to shut up and listen."

I raised my eyebrows at Morgan pointedly, sipping my coffee as Emily strode off. Morgan looked like he was going to respond, but gave up because now he definitely knew he fucked up.

* * *

Later that very night, Morgan had gotten into a verbal spat with Father Marks and drove off to the church to apologize. Instead of finding the priest, he came across what was left of one of our unsub's victims, propped up in a pew. I went with Hotch and Emily to see her at the ME's office.

"Well, she's Hispanic," I said, folding my arms across my chest as I stared down at half of the corpse. "Clearly neither of the two women we're looking for."

"Okay, I got it," Emily hung up her cell phone and turned towards us, notepad in hand. "All right, her name is Maria Lopez. She's thirty-four years old. Numerous arrests for solicitation and prostitution just like the others. But she was reported missing nine months ago."

"She's been dead seventy-two hours, and I can say with certainty there was no sexual assault," the examiner told us solemnly.

"Why would he keep her alive for nine months and then kill her three days ago?"

"Dr. Fulton, can you check the tissue to see if the cells have burst?" Hotch asked.

"You think she was frozen?" Fulton shot back.

"Why?" I cocked my head to the side.

"Because I think he's eating them," Hotch looked up into my eyes.

* * *

"Thank you," I hung up my phone and entered the small office room the rest of my team (and Detective Jordan) was sitting in. I pulled out the empty chair beside Rossi and took a seat. "Dr. Fulton confirmed it—Maria Lopez was frozen shortly after her death."

"Well, that explains why we haven't been able to find the other victims. He's keepin' 'em," Morgan said.

"How'd you get to cannibalism?" JJ asked.

"He didn't take them for sex, and he took their legs," Hotch answered. "He was trying to tell us by feeding the fingers to Abbey Kelton. Fingers were a message. 'I've killed before' was only a part of it. 'I'm eating them' was the other."

"Cannibalism: The greatest taboo. That explains his drive to blame his appetite on an outside force," Rossi said.

"Why would anyone want to eat human flesh?" JJ's voice quivered.

"It's like a sexual urge," Reid piped up. "The cross-wiring of the two most basic human drives—sustenance and sex."

"It all fits," Morgan waved a hand.

Emily's phone began to ring. "Hey, Garcia, I'm putting you on speaker," she laid it on the table.

" _So, I can't find any patients in Florida who have the charming cocktail of being both a Satanist_ and _a cannibal. However, Hazelwood Mental Institution is the place to go when looking for Florida's most dangerous kinds of wackos, and they had a fire in 1998 that destroyed all their records_ ," Garcia told us.

"How far away is Hazelwood?" Hotch asked.

"Seventy miles," Reid told him.

"Uh, JJ, tell them we're on our way. Uh, Reid."

"Let's do it," the gangly agent muttered.

We stayed in the office, trying to spitball ideas with Detective Jordan, but he could barely offer us anything, unfortunately. And then Rossi got a call from Hotch.

" _Rossi, we've got something. I need a name, Reid_."

I could barely make out Reid's voice, but what I could hear was disturbing. Something about someone biting off a large piece of his baby sister's flesh.

" _A name_ ," Hotch repeated.

Then Reid said something about the person thinking he was possessed by a flesh-eating demon.

" _Reid_."

" _Floyd Feylinn Farrell_ ," Reid said in an audible voice.

"Feylinn?" Jordan furrowed his brow. "Floyd Feylinn?"

"You know him?" I asked.

"Sure I do."

"He dropped his last name," Emily got up and fast-walked out of the room.

"Would he be that obvious?"

"Absolutely, he's not that bright," Rossi said as we all stood up. "He believes Satan would protect him from getting caught."

* * *

Bulletproof vests on, we pulled up to the old manor where Floyd Feylinn was residing. We followed Jordan up to the front door, guns out, and Morgan kicked the door down.

"Morgan, go right," he announced, leading the way into the abode. We all veered into different rooms, pointing our guns and checking every corner. We met in the kitchen, where the sink was piled up. "It's clear."

"Clear," Emily confirmed, looking shocked.

I could faintly hear old-timey jazz music coming from below. Morgan signaled for us to follow him toward Jordan, who'd been at the basement door. As we got closer, the Louis Armstrong music became louder. Morgan looked back at Rossi, who nodded, and he opened up the door. He flashed a light down the stairs and carefully made his way down, gesturing to us to come with him. There were three other doorways and I went with Morgan to the one on the right, following the music. JJ and Jordan opened up what looked like a meat locker packed with dead prostitutes, while Emily and Rossi found Sheryl Timmons in a cage.

"Tracey Lambert?" Rossi asked, stepping out of his room to meet JJ who'd done the same.

"She's not here," JJ shook her head.

Rossi looked at Morgan and nodded his head. I trained my gun on the door and waited for Morgan to kick it down. I entered the small brick room and found an almost naked man sitting back-to.

"FBI, don't move," I said, pointing my weapon at the back of his shaggy head of hair. He was sitting on a stool in his underwear, praying to his Satanic shrine. There were paintings hanging on the wall—notably _Saturn Devouring His Son_. Floyd lifted his head slowly, not even trying to defend himself.

"Get your hands where I can see 'em," Morgan added. "Do it now! Feylinn!"

"I got him," I nodded to my teammate, holding my gun steady. Morgan took Floyd Feylinn Farrell's wrists and wrestled them into handcuffs as the music continued to play.

"Get up. _Get up_ ," Morgan hissed, lifting Floyd up. He turned him to start frog-marching him out, but stopped him in front of me.

"Where's Tracey Lambert?" I asked, wondering all the while why he looked so familiar.

But Feylinn looked away from me.

"Let's go," Morgan dragged him away.

I lowered my weapon and watched as Rossi came into the room. He was staring at me, scrutinizing me as I gulped.

"Something the matter?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"I've seen him before. But I can't remember where," I rubbed at my tired eyes and stifled a yawn. "Lack of sleep must be affecting my memory."

"It'll come to you," Rossi clapped my back and stepped closer to the shrine, pulling out one of the books on Floyd's shelf, a black pleather-bound binder. Meanwhile, I set about removing the paintings from the walls. Reid would know more about them than me.

* * *

And Reid _did_ know more about them than me.

"Francisco Goya, known as the Black Paintings," he analyzed. "Lorenz's notes say that Feylinn was exposed to them as part of his therapeutic art therapy."

 _Sounds a bit redundant to me_ , I thought, standing at the window into Floyd's questioning chamber. (Lorenz, by the way, had been Floyd's therapist at the mental institution, but he'd died saving the cannibal's file from burning.) I was between Rossi and Morgan, trying to ignore the patch of skin on his chest that the former had left visible by undoing the first button on his shirt. For God knows what reason, I always found that to be a turn-on. _God, Hunter, you're on a case. Leave your hormones at the door._

"I don't think it worked," Emily muttered from where she leaned against the wall in the back of the room.

"He kills them after seventy-two hours. Tracey's been gone for twenty-four," Hotch approached Morgan with the pleather-bound binder. "See if you can find out where she is."

"Do what I can," Morgan sighed, leaving to enter the questioning chamber.

I watched him slowly amble towards the wooden table, plopping the binder onto the table before the disinterested killer. Morgan opened up the binder.

" _'Kobe…girl…steak', huh?_ " he read, " _That's where you massage the meat, right? Floyd, these are some pretty unusual recipes you got here. You try 'em all?_ "

Floyd's mouth twitched, but he refused to make eye contact.

" _Hmm? You must've tried some of them, right? Talk to me. Which ones did you try?_ "

" _They have a smiley face by them_ ," Floyd drawled. " _Others have a frowny face_."

" _They sure do_ ," Morgan flipped a page. " _Why?_ "

" _They didn't turn out so good_."

" _Thank you for that…_ "

I tried not to chuckle at Morgan's deadpan.

" _You hear voices, Floyd?_ "

" _…I'm not smart…but I have a smart friend who tells me things._ "

" _What's your smart friend's name?_ "

" _He wants me to tell you something._ "

" _Tell me what?_ "

" _Your watch has stopped._ "

I watched as Morgan looked down at his wrist. He then leaned back in his chair.

"He's tryin' to spook him," Rossi diagnosed, exchanging glances with me.

"Well, that won't work," Hotch mumbled beside me.

" _Yeah, um, I was meaning to change the batteries over a month ago,_ " Morgan told him. He got up and stepped around to the side of the table, pushing in the other chair. " _Y'know, we thought you chose athletically-built women because you were attracted to them, but that was only part of it, right?_ " Morgan put his hands on the desk, leaning into Floyd's face—something I probably wouldn't have done while questioning a **_cannibal_**. " _Like a woman with a little meat on her bones, don't you? Makes for better recipes, dunnit? Somethin' I'm missing?_ "

" _Skinny ones take drugs._ "

" _So what? You don't like drug-users?_ "

" _They taste funny._ "

" _Where's Tracey Lambert, Floyd?_ "

" _I'm not supposed to tell you. I'm only supposed to tell Father Marks. I'm going to stop talking now_."

We immediately called in the priest and soon enough, he and Morgan entered the questioning chamber together. I was still standing at the window with Hotch, but Rossi had stepped back, reading from a file.

" _Thank you for coming, Father_ ," Floyd said once Marks had sat down across from him and Morgan had taken the chair he'd pushed in earlier.

" _Anything I can do to—_ "

Morgan held up two fingers to silence Marks. " _Floyd, I had to pull some serious strings to get him here_. _My bosses didn't like the idea at all of sending him in. Now, they're gonna allow him to sit right here and listen, but you're gonna talk to me, all right?_ "

" _Okay_ ," Floyd muttered. " _I've done some really bad things_."

" _Everybody's done things they're not proud of, Floyd. The only thing that helps is to talk about 'em, tell other people. Things are always better after you talk about 'em_ ," Morgan said.

" _Not everything_ ," Floyd shook his head.

"This is strange," Rossi looked up from the file. "When he entered the park, Feylinn signed the volunteer sign-in sheet. But his name's not on the list of searchers."

That started to get the gears in my head to turn. The search party must have been where I'd seen him.

" _Come on, Floyd. I got him here like you asked. Now it's your turn. Tell us. Where is Tracey Lambert?_ "

"Something's wrong," Rossi said.

" _Father…I feel so alone_ ," Floyd drawled.

I looked over my shoulder at Jordan, an idea popping in my head. "What does Feylinn do for a living?"

" _I feel like God has abandoned me_ ," Floyd continued.

"He owns a barbecue restaurant," Jordan shook his head.

" _Why?_ " Floyd whispered.

I started to feel sick to my stomach.

" _You are not alone, my son_ ," Marks responded.

"Where are you going with this, McCarthy?" Hotch focused his eyes on me.

"I think I know why he wasn't one of the searchers," I covered my mouth.

" _God is in all of us_ ," Marks added.

"We need to stop the interview," Rossi said quickly, rushing out of the room.

Floyd looked up at the priest, the same smirk on his face as he gave me from his chili booth. " _So is Tracey Lambert_."

" _You son of a bitch_ ," Marks breathed as the cannibal chuckled at his horrible, albeit darkly clever, joke. " _YOU SON OF_ —" The priest got up and lunged over the table to try and choke Floyd, but Morgan pulled him off.

" _Father Marks! Father Marks, no! Come on, help!_ " Morgan shouted as Hotch and Rossi came to his assistance.

"He was feeding the volunteers," Jordan kept shaking his head.

* * *

I didn't think I'd ever get the sound of Floyd Feylinn Farrell's laughter out of my head. It haunted me as we boarded the jet. It kept me from taking a well-deserved nap on the way back to Virginia.

And when I finally got home and managed to fall asleep in my bed, I dreamt of it before waking up to a phone call I hoped I'd never get.


	5. Penelope

**It recently came to my attention that what I kept referring to as the "bullpen" is the "round table room" and that the "bullpen" is actually the outer office area. My bad. I went back and fixed it.**

 **Hope you're all enjoying the story!**

* * *

 **I sped through** the dark of the early morning, all the windows down in my SUV to keep the wind whipping in my face. My body and mind were exhausted, but my adrenaline was pumping. I needed to get to the hospital as fast as I could. I'd taken too much time throwing on jeans and a sweatshirt over my pajamas, grabbing my badge and gun; I couldn't waste another second.

Garcia had been shot when she returned from her date mere hours earlier. JJ had told me she was in surgery, her voice shaking over the phone.

I pulled into the parking lot and swung my door open. I practically ran through the lot, entering the lobby and demanding to know what floor she was on. I waited impatiently for the elevator and found JJ, Hotch, and Reid in a waiting area.

"How is she?" I asked.

"She's in surgery," JJ told me. "There's no word."

I held back my tears and wrapped my arms around the blonde.

"This is crazy," Reid whispered.

I stepped away from JJ and leaned against the wall, watching Hotch slowly pace. I folded my arms across my chest and tapped my fingers. I wondered where on earth Derek Morgan was, as did Reid, who tried calling him a couple times. Moments later, Emily and Rossi came down the hallway to meet us.

"What do we know?" the latter asked.

"Police think it was a botched robbery," Hotch told him.

"Where's Morgan?" Emily looked around.

"He's not answering his cell," JJ shook her head.

"I'll call him again," Reid pulled out his phone and stepped away.

"What aren't you saying?" Rossi mumbled to Hotch, thinking I was out of earshot.

"I spoke to one of the paramedics who brought her in. It doesn't look good," Hotch told him.

I felt my breath hitch and I started to crack my knuckles, a nervous tic of mine. I ran my hands through my hair and tried to regulate my breathing. Emily came over to me and put her arm around my shoulders.

JJ tried to talk to a nurse, but she came back shaking her head. "They can't give me an update."

"Morgan's phone just keeps going straight to voicemail," Reid reported.

"Where the hell is he?" I asked, exchanging glances with Emily.

But no one had an answer for me.

Most of us had changed our positions as we waited—some taking refuge on the couches. I remained where I was on the wall. Rossi stood nearby, pulling out that charm bracelet thing yet again. If I hadn't been so worried about Penelope, I might have asked him about it.

My fatigue was starting to catch up with me, but I refused to give in before we knew what was going on. I rubbed at my eyes and took a deep breath. Rossi looked back at me and squeezed my closest shoulder, offering me a kind attempt at a smile. I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached up to hold his hand on my joint before I could even think about what I was doing. I looked away, keeping my hand over his for a moment. He kept his grip on my shoulder without protest until Morgan finally showed up.

"She's been in surgery a couple hours," JJ stood up to greet him.

"I was at church, my phone was off," Morgan said. Beside me, Rossi glanced over at him.

"There's nothing you could've been doing here," Reid gave him a wistful smile from his spot on the couch.

"The police got any leads?" Morgan looked to Hotch, concern rising in his voice.

"I spoke to the lead detective. He doesn't think we'll get anything from the scene," Hotch told him.

Morgan looked like he was about to say something else, but he turned around with a sigh when an OR room opened up. A surgeon came out with a clipboard.

"Penelope Garcia?" he asked, coming towards us.

"Yes," Hotch said.

"Yes," Emily echoed.

"The bullet went in her chest and ricocheted into her abdomen. She lost a lot of blood," the surgeon told us.

It might have just been me, but it felt like it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Rossi's hand returned to my shoulder for one comforting squeeze.

"It was touch-and-go for a while, but we were able to repair the injuries," the surgeon smiled.

"So what are you saying?" JJ whispered.

"One centimeter over and it would have torn right through her heart. Instead, she could actually walk out of here in a couple of days, and I'd say that's a minor miracle."

The majority of us took a collective deep breath, myself included.

"She needs her rest," the surgeon took off his cap. "You can see her in the morning."

"Thank you," I said at the same time as Hotch.

"David and I'll go to the scene. I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up," the latter added. "I don't care about protocol. I don't care whether we're working this officially or not. We don't touch _any_ new cases until we find out who did this."

* * *

Garcia groaned once we were finally able to enter her hospital room. The nurse who led us in was reluctant to allow all five of us in at the same time, but JJ was able to talk her into it.

It broke my heart to see her lying on the bed, no make-up or glasses, sedated, pale. She looked so broken, so…not Garcia. I stood at her feet, while JJ and Morgan hurried to her side. The former leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

"Hi," Garcia mumbled feebly. "No tears. I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll come unstapled."

"I'm glad you're okay, honey-bunny," I said, grasping her foot gently over the blanket.

"I don't know if 'okay' is the word I'd go with, my dear Hunter," she smirked down the length of her body at me. "But I am alive…and breathing."

I gave her face a smile, and her foot a little shake and let go. I ducked my face behind the upright collar of my charcoal colored quarter-zip sweatshirt. I absentmindedly started pulling on the tips of my French pigtails, thankful that I'd braided my hair after showering again. I could only imagine how it would have looked right now had I been sleeping with it down before rushing to the hospital.

"How are you feeling?" Morgan asked in one of the most serious voices I've ever heard him use with Garcia.

"Oh…confused…stupid…and, uh…in pain," she responded.

"Are you up for some questions?" JJ asked carefully.

"I never saw it coming," Garcia sighed. "He seemed…deliciously normal."

"You know him?" Reid asked.

She shook her head to herself before turning to look at Morgan, "You were right. I should've trusted it."

"What are you talkin' about?" he furrowed his brow.

"It's that guy I told you about. The one I met at the coffee shop."

I pursed my lips from behind my collar and caught Morgan's eye for a brief moment.

"I wanted to believe he was interested in me," Garcia continued.

"Forget that," Morgan breathed.

"I let my guard down."

"Do you have any idea why he would've done this?" Emily asked from beside me.

"Did he threaten you?" I lifted my head. "Did he want something?"

"I just thought he liked me," Garcia said tearfully. Her body started to quake and I immediately regretted asking those questions.

"Okay, um, we're gonna-we're gonna come back in a little while," JJ told her.

"We need a name," Emily readied her notepad.

"James Colby Baylor," Garcia said.

I led the way out of the room, crossing my arms so my elbows were tucked together and my hands were on their opposite shoulders. Emily was still scribbling down the assailant's name as she headed down the hallway to make a phone call. I heard a loud _SMACK_ behind me and turned to find a distressed Morgan standing by a newly smudged whiteboard.

"You need to stay calm," Reid said.

" _Don't_ tell me what to be," Morgan replied heatedly.

"Do you remember anything she said about 'im?" Reid asked, unperturbed.

"No," Morgan shook his head.

"I just talked to Hotch," Emily came over. "They think he used a revolver."

"Who the hell uses a revolver?" I gnawed on the inside of my cheek.

"Somebody who doesn't want to leave shell casings behind as evidence," Reid said.

"What about witnesses?" Morgan put his hands on his hips.

"None so far," Emily shook her head. "And he staged it to look like a robbery."

"Which means if he's smart enough to use forensic countermeasures, odds are the name he gave Garcia is probably bogus," Reid added.

"What did she say?" I asked as JJ finally left Penelope's side and joined our circle.

"She made me promise not to talk about her like a victim," JJ said in a shaky voice.

* * *

"I asked her to go out last night, but she was still pissed at me, Mick," Morgan said as we gazed into Garcia's window while a nurse tended to her.

"Right," I nodded.

"She blew me off," he turned away from the window and leaned against the wall a few feet down.

"So you ended up at church?" I spun to look at him.

"Yeah. What does it mean? On one hand, if she'd gone out with me, she would have never got shot," he looked into my eyes. "On the other hand…what are the odds that the first time I pray in twenty years, she's on the table?"

The nurse came to our side before I could tell him not to blame himself. "She's asking for you," said the young woman, looking at both of us.

I gestured for Morgan to go in before me. And when we got in, I didn't hesitate for a moment to grab one of Garcia's hands. She seemed so scared. I could feel tremors in her hand and I tried to calm her down by rubbing spirals into her palm with my thumb.

"Hey," Morgan laid his own hand on her other, the one draped over her stomach. "How you feelin'?"

"Good news, bad news," she said slowly. "The morphine's wearing off." She cast her big brown eyes on me. "When I was in the ambulance, I could hear one of your favorite songs, Hunter—'Heroes'—playing in my head… I kept flashing in and out of consciousness… Everything was really bright…and I remember thinking, 'Wait…is David Bowie really God?'"

I snickered, clasping my other hand on hers. "We have a sketch artist coming in," I said softly.

"I'm still a little hazy," she told me, her eyes glossy.

"It's okay. Anything you tell us will help," Morgan said.

"Yeah," she whispered in a barely audible voice.

"This guy say what he did for a living?"

"He said he was a lawyer."

"Did people know him where you went?" I asked.

"He said he wanted to show me a place. It was half an hour away."

"You drove together?" Morgan asked.

"Mm."

"What kind of car?"

"White four door sedan. American," she took a sharp intake of breath. "It smelled new."

"Rental car, maybe?" I suggested.

"Maybe," she gave me a look that almost broke my heart. "I don't know. I don't look at things like you guys do. I don't see danger—"

"Okay," Morgan murmured, cutting her off, "okay, take it easy, take it easy. What else _can_ you remember?"

Garcia stared off into space. "He smelled good."

"He seem nervous?" I asked.

"I thought he was just afraid to kiss me good night," she said, a tear rolling down her face. Morgan caught it on his finger.

"Hey. You sure you're up for this?" he asked her.

She nodded. "I could hear him walking. He leaned over me and I held my breath so he'd think I was dead."

I squeezed her hand. I thought of Elle, who'd felt the Fisher King dig into her gunshot wound so he could use her blood as ink on her own wall. I knew how terrifying a situation like that was. I knew how scary it was to feel the presence of your would-be-killer around while you had to lay idle.

* * *

Four days later we still had no leads, but at least Garcia had been removed from the ICU, but was still convalescing. She was a couple days away from being cleared to go home, the poor thing. Morgan and Reid were replaying the night of the shooting with her while Rossi, Hotch, JJ, Emily, and I mulled around the office, trying to investigate.

"…We can always round up the three million guys the sketch looks like," Rossi deadpanned as he and Hotch entered the round table room, where I stood with the girls.

"That was the police," JJ hung up her phone. "They took the sketch back to the coffee shop, the restaurant, came up empty."

"I even ran it through ViCAP, no hits," Emily shook her head.

"No luck with the rental car companies, no prints at the scene, no shell casings," Hotch said. "The cell phone the guy used to call Garcia was a disposable."

"The guy's a cipher," I put my hands on my hip, staring at the bulletin board.

I felt Rossi's eyes on me from my elbow. I tried very hard to ignore how handsome I thought he was. And I was still trying when Reid and Morgan returned. They relayed Garcia's story to us of how Baylor had fooled Garcia with his jargon, but not with his fake Rolex.

"He knows enough to use legal terminology," Reid told us, sitting down, "but he's not actually a working lawyer."

"I think we're looking at someone who failed out of law school, or didn't pass the bar," Morgan added.

"Did Garcia say if he gave any details about the cases he was supposedly working?" JJ asked.

"No specifics," Reid shook his head.

"If he failed out of the system it could explain why he's got a working vocabulary and not much more," I offered.

"It could also explain his anger," Emily pointed out. "Even in his lie he rails against other people's incompetence."

"Well, he's clearly a narcissist," Rossi said as he sat in the chair beside me. "The clothes, the watch, the subtle hints at where he went to school. He's faking humility when he's saying New Haven and Cambridge instead of Yale and Harvard."

"JJ, we need an analyst who can, uh, put our information through our legal databases," Hotch said to the blonde.

"I'm on it," and out the door she went.

* * *

JJ had enlisted an analyst named Kevin Lynch. He looked like he had just stepped out of a comic book store when I first saw him being led into Garcia's lair by Hotch and Rossi. I smirked to myself, tossing my green and blue Koosh ball into the air so I could catch it.

 _Garcia may have met her match_ , I remember thinking.

But the smirk was erased from my mouth when I heard that Kevin had found an encrypted file on her system. That added onto Internal Affairs suspending both our investigation _and_ Garcia…

"Is this really necessary?" I asked as IA Agent Adam Fuchs unpinned the pictures on our bulletin board.

"It's protocol," he said. Though his head was turned when JJ, Emily, and I shared a glance, he added an annoyed, " _Yes_ , it's necessary. Mr. Lynch here will do an audit of her computer."

Kevin gave us a sheepish wave, as if he sympathized more with us.

"I will oversee the investigation," Fuchs continued, putting the pictures in an evidence box on our round table.

"A federal employee was just gunned down and you make it seem like investigating _her_ is more important than finding out who shot her," JJ retorted.

"Well, that's not true," Fuchs put a hand on the box. "The police have jurisdiction, and trust me, I will offer them the full force of the FBI to solve this case."

"With all due respect, sir, the BAU is part of that force," Emily said poisonously.

"Look, I'm sorry. I realize how hard this must be…"

"But?" JJ interjected.

"But the first thing you look at is victimology, correct?"

Emily nodded.

"The Bureau needs to know what she's involved in and whether it has to do with why she was shot."

"She's not involved in anything," JJ said defensively. She and Garcia were very close, just as Emily and I were.

"And you're certain of that?" Fuchs put a hand on his hip.

"Absolutely," I folded my arms across my chest.

He turned and looked at me. Then he looked back at JJ and stepped around me. Emily, JJ, and I exchanged another glance, and Kevin looked even more sheepish.

"What do you know about how she was recruited to the FBI?" Fuchs stood across from us, clearly losing patience. And when none of us had a solid answer, he told us. "Well, the Bureau keeps track of computer hackers—ones who have the skill to be either extremely useful or a potential menace."

"So Garcia was on a watch list?" Emily asked.

"No, watch lists are too long," Fuchs shook his head. "I'm talkin' about only a handful of people on the planet."

"What did she do to get on that list?" JJ fired back.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to answer that."

* * *

It turned out that the encrypted file was just Garcia taking drastic measures to keep our team safe after the aforementioned event of Elle getting shot. See, Randall Garner (AKA The Fisher King) had managed to hack into Garcia's system and got the records she was mandated to keep on us, thus getting everyone's addresses.

Reid and Morgan managed to have Garcia released from the hospital and the latter took her home, where her apartment complex was going to be under surveillance by the local police. But Morgan refused to leave her side, which came in handy when Baylor returned to the complex that night to finish the job. Unfortunately he killed an officer outside, but Morgan managed to chase him away.

We received a call later that evening and I rode with JJ and Reid to the complex in one of the Suburbans, following them up to Garcia's very purple abode. We found her sitting on her chair with Morgan beside her, staring out the window.

"What's going on?" JJ asked, walking past the guard outside the door and squatting in front of the analyst.

"I don't know. This guy's getting seriously bold and I can guarantee it's not over," Morgan said.

"You okay?" I asked, coming to her side and stroking one of her pigtails.

"I don't know what he wants from me," she shook her head.

"Could you know something about him?" Reid asked.

"I don't know," Garcia said.

"Maybe you have something he wants," the doctor suggested.

"I don't know who he is," she replied. She looked down at JJ in front of her. "I'm so scared."

"I know," JJ stood up and looked at me.

"Hey, did you get a look at him?" Emily asked, entering the apartment with Rossi and Hotch.

"Nothin' solid," Morgan said.

"Garcia, we need to get you back to the hospital," Hotch said as Emily came up around me and put her hand under Penelope's arm to help her up.

"No," Garcia protested.

"Y-You know what, you should still be there. We need to get her someplace safe," JJ said.

"I feel safe with all of you," Garcia looked around at us.

"We can take you to the BAU," Hotch offered.

She nodded, but then stared off into space.

"Garcia?" JJ asked when she didn't move.

"You okay?" I cocked my head.

"When we were at dinner…they wanted to seat us by a window, but he insisted on sitting at the worst table in the place," Garcia remembered. "And he sat with his back to the corner."

Two men came in, talking to each other—one was the lead detective on the case, Walker.

"Detective?" Hotch turned to him. "Can you clear the room for just a minute?"

"I got a dead cop downstairs. I consider this part of the crime scene," Walker rebutted.

"I know. Just a couple of minutes," Hotch said.

Walker considered this for a second. "Do what you gotta do," he bowed his head and the other detective followed him out of the door.

"Thank you," Hotch responded.

"Tell us about the car," Reid prodded.

"Why?" Garcia looked to Morgan.

"Just go with him," he crouched beside her.

"Y-You said it was white, four-door, American. W-What else?" Reid asked.

"That's it, it was just a car," Garcia shook her head fervently.

"No, come on. Think. Anything. Go back," Morgan said.

"The seatbelt was buckled behind his back."

I gulped, exchanging glances with Emily.

"Why does that matter?"

"It wasn't a rental—it was for surveillance," I explained. "Agents don't wear seatbelts. They need to get out in a hurry."

"All right, let's cut the crap," Rossi crossed the room and took a seat on the coffee table before Garcia. "You need to be straight with us. Right now."

She turned her head, just as shocked as the rest of us that he was so angry.

"Look at me," he snapped, "not them."

"I'm not hiding anything," she told him.

"You got shot. Most people get shot for a _reason_."

Garcia turned her head to Morgan.

"Eyes here!"

"Hey, ease up, Rossi," Morgan furrowed his brow.

"You got a room full of people here willing to believe that an FBI agent is trying to kill you. We need to know everything you do on company time that we don't know about," Rossi barked. When Garcia hesitated, he jumped on her again. " _What_?"

"Come on, man," Morgan said.

"It's nothing bad—"

" _Spit it out_!" Rossi interrupted Garcia.

"It's nothing bad! It's ju—I…counsel victims' families…and they know where I work, so sometimes they ask me to look into cases for them."

"What does that mean?"

"It just means that the cases, the unsolved ones, I tag them so whoever's investigating them knows that the FBI considers them a priority."

"You're not authorized to do that," Hotch reprimanded as Rossi stood up.

"I know, I was just trying to help," Garcia said.

"But whoever's working those cases thinks you're watching them," Emily pointed out.

"I just wanted to put the pressure on them so that they don't slide," Garcia whimpered.

"How many cases are we talking about?" Hotch began to pace.

"I don't know. Seven, eight maybe. I need to get into my system."

"You can't. You're suspended."

"Wait a minute. Garcia, on your date you said this guy was pressing you to find out if you were working murder cases," Morgan said. "Hotch, we gotta look at those files."

Hotch sighed and looked at Rossi.

"I told you, I'm sick of this jag-off being in front of us," Rossi sounded beyond irritated.

"Dave's right," Hotch said. "We'll go back to the BAU. Morgan, Reid, McCarthy, Prentiss, you stay here and make sure no one forgets to log out of the system. Garcia should not have access."

"Understood," Morgan said as the other three left.

* * *

"What is she doing in there?" I asked after Garcia had gone into her bedroom with her laptop. I could faintly hear the tech analyst talking to herself through the walls.

"Do you _really_ wanna know?" Emily smirked at me over the comic book she was reading while pacing the living room.

I grinned, hugging my knees to my chest on the couch Reid and I were sharing. And moments later I saw her printer go off, several sheets of paper coming out.

"Those are all the cases I flagged," Garcia said, coming out of her room.

"Okay, everybody take a copy," Morgan grabbed them and distributed them to us. "We need to see if any of the agents overlap in all of the cases."

I stood up to grab the files and sat back down on the couch, scouring the three cases I was given. "There aren't _any_ agents working on these cases. But the same deputy was a first responder in all three."

"What's the name?" Morgan asked.

"Jason Clark Battle," I looked up.

"What are the cases?" Reid wondered.

"Uh, all three were drive-bys at close range, shot with a revolver. That's either a whole lot of coincidence or this is our unsub."

Garcia started to look up the name on her laptop. A picture of a handsome blonde man in a uniform came up and she gulped.

"Is that him?" Emily asked.

"Yeah," Garcia whispered.

"He's been honored twice as a hero."

"So why is he stuck at deputy?"

"Because even to his superiors, something was off about him," Morgan said.

"Makes sense," Reid piped up. "Uh, the showy clothes, the subtle bragging. He presents himself as a prominent attorney when he's actually just a deputy sheriff."

"Underappreciated in the world and over-appreciated in his own mind," I sucked on my lip.

"I don't understand," Garcia said.

"I think you may have stumbled upon an angel of death," I elaborated.

"I thought those are nurses who put people out of their misery."

"Yeah, that's one model. The other is someone who puts people at risk in order to save them," Reid added.

"So he shot them so that he could save them?"

"Yeah, and when he couldn't, he made it look like a random murder. It's how he was able to be the first responder," Emily said.

"Ah, it's called hero homicide complex. It's-It's most commonly found in firemen who set fires in order to save the day," Reid added.

"Garcia," Morgan started. "You flagged these cases. He thought you were onto him."

"I wasn't," she shook her head.

"But you're the only person in the world who was gonna make the connection. In his mind, he had to eliminate you," Emily said.

Garcia fell back in her seat. I moved to sit on the arm of her chair and put my arm around her. She grabbed onto one of my hands and I squeezed. Meanwhile, Morgan pulled out his phone.

"Deputy Battle, please … Okay, what time is his shift over? … No, no message. Thank you," he hung up. "Okay, he didn't sign out to a location. His shift is over at midnight. Until then, I do _not_ want this guy knowing that we're onto him."

"Why? What's the profile say?" Garcia asked.

"He'll keep getting bolder, trying to cover his tracks, and if that doesn't work, he'll die shooting," Reid said.

A few minutes later, something showed up on Garcia's laptop screen. She pulled it onto her lap and examined it.

"Okay, that's funky," she said.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"He just logged into my system. There's a link up on my screen," she told me. I assumed she was talking about Kevin Lynch.

"Maybe it's a mistake," Emily theorized.

"No. He's good, he's not careless," Garcia admitted.

"Could he be trying to show you something?" Reid wondered.

"He could be baiting me…"

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

"If he's with Internal Affairs and I follow his lead, whosever login I used could lose their job," Garcia explained.

"What's your gut say?" I nudged her carefully with my elbow.

"He's a hacker. We have a code."

"You trust it?" Morgan looked down at her.

"I have to."

"Do it. Make contact."

Garcia clicked and clacked on her keyboard and eventually a livestream of our bullpen area appeared on her screen.

"It's the BAU," Emily gasped.

"God, that's him," Garcia breathed, staring at the uniformed deputy pacing around Kevin as he sat at a computer.

Morgan pulled out his phone. "Hotch, it's Morgan. He's in the BAU. Deputy sheriff, mid-bullpen, just past my desk. Got him? … Don't let him know we're onto him. He's a classic narcissist with a hero homicide complex, and he's spiraling. If you let him know we're onto him, he's gonna start shooting."

We kept our eyes glued to the screen, watching Battle get antsier and antsier.

"We gotta slip somebody in behind 'im," Morgan said.

"Uh, can you get us the cameras outside the bullpen?" Reid asked.

Garcia typed and Keven sent us feeds of the round table room, a hallway, and even JJ as she sat in her office.

"Oh, my girl," she said in a fearful voice.

"Come on, JJ, pick up the phone," Morgan said, his cell against his ear as we watched JJ fill out paperwork. We saw her grab her phone. "Pick it up. JJ, it's Morgan. Listen to me very carefully…"

He explained the situation to the blonde and Garcia kept switching feeds. I could see Hotch and Rossi in the bullpen, subtly making eyes at Battle, who was leaning against the desk, staring back at them. He seemed to get even antsier, if that were possible.

"He knows they know," I said.

"This is crazy. We gotta get over there," Morgan stood up.

"I'm going with you," Garcia put her laptop on the table.

"No, you are not," he told her protectively as we all got up and headed for the door.

"You do not have time to argue," she stood from her chair and defiantly followed us.

* * *

Right after we left, Battle had taken Agent Fuchs hostage, holding a gun to his balding head. Rossi and Hotch tried to talk him down, but JJ came out behind him and shot him through the door to the bullpen as he turned his head to look at her.

"It's really over?" Garcia asked as Morgan pulled the yellow tarp back over the corpse once we got to the scene.

"Yeah, it's really over," Morgan said. "Now can we please get you back to the hospital?"

"I—" Garcia did a double-take and looked across the bullpen to where Hotch stood with a stunned Fuchs.

"Oh, don't worry about your reinstatement papers," Emily soothed. "He'll sign them as soon as his hands stop shaking."

Garcia then turned her head and approached JJ, who was sitting by our coffee machine. Instead of eavesdropping on their conversation, my eyes directed me to Rossi, who was sitting near Hotch. I stepped over to them, not even knowing what I would say when I got over there, but luckily Morgan got to them first.

"How's Garcia?" Hotch asked.

"She'll make sense of it," he shrugged.

"And you? How's your faith?" Rossi piped up.

Morgan looked at the both of them, then at me by his elbow. "Day to day," he finally said, clapping my back before he walked away.

Hotch turned his eyes to me as I stifled a huge yawn. "You look like you're dead on your feet, McCarthy."

"I am," I rubbed at the dark circles under my left eye.

"Do you need me to tell you a bedtime story?"

I snickered. It was rare that Hotch ever joked, and I felt honored any time it was aimed at me. "Yeah, I'll call you tonight when I'm tossing and turning."

Rossi smirked up at me. I felt my stomach start to feel warm and fuzzy inside. I tried to ignore him (and the butterflies) and folded my arms across my chest.

"We got the guy," Rossi said. "Go home and rest while you can."

I nodded, smiling at him. "I think I will."

"I'll follow you out," he stood up. "Night, Aaron."

"Good night," Hotch nodded and stepped away.

"Wait one second," Rossi held up a finger to me and I watched him go to his office.

I patted my pockets and realized that I didn't have my keys, so I went over to my desk and grabbed them out of one of my drawers. When I looked up, I could see Garcia and Kevin flirting with each other. Stifling another yawn, I pocketed my keyring and then smiled at the two geeks. I could tell it was only a matter of time before they started hooking up.

I leaned against my desk and started fiddling with my Koosh ball as I waited for Rossi. I pulled on the rubber strings, spinning the ball absentmindedly. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked over and saw that it was Morgan.

"You waiting for something?" he asked.

"Rossi," I said.

"Why?" he furrowed his brow.

"He's going to walk me to the parking garage," I tossed the ball at Morgan's peck.

"You need him to escort you?" he tossed the ball back.

"No, but he offered and parking garages creep me out at night, so why not?"

"You're an FBI agent and you're creeped out by parking garages?"

" _At night_ ," I specified.

"How come you never ask _me_ to walk you to your car?" Morgan feigned offense.

"I didn't even ask _him_ ," I tossed the ball at him harder. "Like I said, he offered."

"Likely story. Is it 'cause you've got the hots for Rossi?" Morgan had the worst shit-eating grin on his face.

"Come on," I rolled my eyes, hoping my cheeks wouldn't get too red. He was totally right though, I did have the hots for Rossi.

"I see you blushin', Mick," he did a trick with the ball and placed it back on my desk. "Don't worry, I won't tell anybody."

"There's nothing to tell!" I hissed at his retreating figure. "Morgan!"

He flashed a peace sign over his shoulder, but I could tell by his swagger that he was still smirking. _What an asshole_ , I thought, folding my arms across my chest.

"Ready?" Rossi came up behind me, sliding an overcoat on.

"Yeah," I nodded, hoping he didn't hear any part of that conversation. "Let's go."


	6. 3rd Life

**I stared at** my phone, sucking in my cheeks. I'd dialed a number, but I could barely bring myself to press the call button. It wasn't the first time I'd called Marcia Holmsby, but it never got any easier. I hated to dredge up the past. It was hard to bring up what had happened so many years ago. But I owed the woman and her husband my life.

I was usually pretty good at keeping my baggage at the door on cases, something I'd told Hotch when he recruited me. I had been trained to suppress a lot of my emotions, but sometimes they just couldn't be stopped. I could only handle a certain amount of stress from these cases without needing catharsis.

Leaning against the Wall of Fallen Heroes, I took a deep breath and was about to call her. The only thing that stopped me now was Rossi coming down the hallway. He stopped in front of me.

"You okay, McCarthy?" he asked, scrutinizing my face.

"Um, yeah," I nodded, clearing the number from my phone. "We got another case?"

We'd recently gotten back from a case in Fredericksburg, Virginia where a man had been killing women the way his deceased father did twenty-seven years prior. His father had been killed by his mother when she was pregnant with him, and he himself had been killed by his own pregnant wife, continuing the cycle.

"Yeah. And it's pretty bad."

* * *

 _"No man or woman who tries to pursue an ideal in his or her own way is without enemies." –Daisy Bates_

"Have you ID'd the body?" Hotch asked Detective Payton as we approached the dumpsite.

"It's a girl," Payton told us.

"One of the missing girls?"

"All I can tell you right now is it's a girl."

"Did you draw up a list of those involved with the search?" Morgan questioned.

"You're gonna find the parents of the girls on that list," Payton ducked under the yellow tape before us.

"Please tell me they didn't discover the body," I gulped. All that I knew about this case was hitting a little too close to home.

"No. As soon as our dogs caught her scent, we kept them away from the scene," he said.

"She'd been missing eighteen hours?" Reid asked.

"That's correct. We found the body five hours ago."

I looked down the mangled body at the bottom of the gully. It once belonged to a teenage girl in Chula Vista, California. Whether it was Katie Owen or Lindsey Vaughan was the mystery. I took a deep breath and stood back up. I could feel Hotch's eyes on me for a moment.

"Have the parents been here all this time?" JJ asked.

"Yeah. And I'm running out of excuses," Payton sighed.

"I'm gonna go talk to them," the blonde jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

"JJ, I'll come with you," Morgan said, leaving my side to follow her.

"Thanks," Payton called after them. "I gotta be honest, guys. I'm glad you're all here because I have never seen anything like that."

"Her face and her hands have been obliterated," Hotch looked at the bloody pulp below. "Why don't you go with JJ and Morgan?" he muttered to me.

I was about to protest, but then I gulped and followed his order.

"Bruce and I were out for dinner," said a devastated Lori Owen. "Jack dropped off the girls at the movie theater."

"And I arranged to pick 'em up, but they never came out. I went inside, but they weren't there. And an usher told me he saw dem leave the, uh, theater halfway through the movie," Jack Vaughan told us. He looked and sounded like a hardened man.

"Where'd they go?" I asked, coming up beside Morgan. He and JJ looked a little confused at my presence.

"He said they went outside for a cigarette," Jack's cold eyes landed on me. There was a heavyset man with dyed black hair standing at his side. I wasn't sure if he was a supportive relative, a friend, a partner, or what.

"I didn't even know Katie smoked," Lori was wringing her hands.

"Did he say if they came back inside?" JJ asked.

"No," Jack shook his head, looking at the ground.

"We've been here _all_ day," Bruce Owen piped up. "Why won't they let us know who that is?"

"'Cause they don't know who it is," Jack said softly. The man beside him put a hand on his shoulder. "Do they?"

"Why? What did they do to her?" Lori's voice quavered.

"Look, until we know who it is and what's happened, we—"

"By 'we', you mean the FBI, right?" asked the heavyset man, interrupting JJ.

"We're only here to help the police find out who did this," Morgan said as Lori fell into Bruce's arms.

"Well, it's a little late for that, don't you think?" Jack turned his body, flashing us a look before walking off.

"I'm Pat Mannan, Jack's friend," the heavy man said. "His wife passed away a few years ago. Lindsey's all that he has."

I looked over and saw Jack standing by a van. He pulled out a pill bottle and threw one back. I exchanged glances with Morgan, who'd seen the self-medication too.

We separated from the parents, but I watched as Jack stepped closer to the edge of the gully. The rest of our team had gone down to get a closer look at the body, who'd been strangled with a belt.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Owen," Morgan said as we approached her and her husband. "The message Katie left, would you mind if I see what we can make of it?"

"Oh, yes, of course," she pulled out her cell phone from the pocket of her cardigan and handed to him.

"Thank you," Morgan walked off.

"Why?" Bruce asked JJ.

"You said she made the call at eleven-twenty. It's possible Katie was with whoever took her," JJ explained.

"Mr. and Mrs. Owen, Mr. Vaughan," Payton beckoned for the latter to come closer as he and the rest of the team came over. "I'm sorry, but we're gonna have to move the body for further examination."

"You know, _I_ can identify her. I-I'll know if it's Katie or Lindsey," Jack offered. "I can do it."

"Until we can find something conclusive, I would advise against that," Rossi said.

* * *

" _Daddy, help me, please!_ "

" _It lasts exactly fifty-three seconds_ ," Garcia reported over the video chat in the police department. " _And then it goes dead. I think she was strangled._ "

"What do you wanna do?" Morgan asked Hotch, who was biting his fist beside me.

"Do?" Rossi echoed on my other side. "There's nothing else _to_ do. The parents can ID the voice."

"Are you serious?" Emily asked.

I turned to him, a lump in my throat.

" _No, no, sir, they can never hear this_ ," Garcia advised.

"It'll be the fastest way to figure out who we're looking for," Rossi defended his point.

"There's gotta be another way," I shook my head.

"DNA?" Payton suggested.

But Hotch agreed with Rossi over everyone else. He called the parents and Mannan into the room.

"Our feeling is by the time we got the results back, it would be too late to save whoever they still have," he explained. "It's up to you."

"This message—what did it record?" Jack leaned against a wall.

"It's the…last moments of one of your daughter's lives," Hotch said carefully.

"Oh my God," Lori wept.

"If you choose to wait, you can make a public appeal to the media," JJ told them.

"Either way, we're still looking for one of your daughters," Rossi said.

"Live appeal—I don't think that's a good idea, Jack," Mannan muttered to his friend.

"Why not?" Hotch asked.

"Because we know they're set up to see the reaction of the parent, check for signs of guilt."

"Is that true?" Lori looked at each of us.

"In some cases," Hotch admitted.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, I can't do this. I'm…sorry," Lori ducked out of the room.

Hotch glanced at Jack and Bruce before leading them to the computer where Garcia was going to play the recording.

"Go ahead, Garcia," Hotch murmured. The analyst reluctantly pressed play.

" _Please_ ," the girl begged. " _Please, no, please! Please, stop it! Stop it! Stop it!_ "

" _Don't fight them. Don't!_ " the other girl said.

" _Oh, please, God, stop!_ "

" _Don't show them you're scared._ "

" _Get off of me! Please, help me! Please, God, stop it! Daddy, help me, please! Please! Daddy, help me! Please, Daddy! Help me!_ "

We listened to it again and I could hardly bear it. I kept trying to swallow the lump in my throat, but it got bigger with every cry from the girl. I could feel both Hotch and Rossi's eyes on me at separate moments, but I had to focus on keeping my cool.

"Pl-Play it again," Bruce said after the second time. His eyes were glassy.

"Mr. Owen," Hotch said softly.

"That's not Katie," Bruce sniffed. "I know her voice. That's not her. That's not Katie."

"Bruce," Lori must have entered the room when no one was looking.

"Mrs. Owen, I'm so sorry," Emily turned to her. JJ even put her arm around the grieving mother.

"No," Bruce protested.

"Please," Lori whimpered.

"No, Lori, it's okay. It's not her."

"Bruce," Jack stepped forward.

"No, Jack. Jack. Jack, it's not Katie, right? You know—"

"Bruce. Bruce…"

"Jack. Jack, it's not Katie."

"It's Katie."

"No. No, it's not. Jack, please."

The two fathers hugged each other. I felt the bottom of my stomach fall out. Tears were brimming in my eye and I wasn't so sure I would be able to hold myself together for much longer.

"Come on," Jack led a weeping Bruce out of the room.

"I want Lindsey's picture everywhere," Hotch said to Payton. He looked at me and I felt the tears start to fall.

"I need some air," I blinked them away quickly and hurried away. I left the station and stood outside in the cool night air. I took a shaky breath and held my face in my hands. I kept hearing Katie's voice. But then it morphed into the voice of another young teenager.

 _"Hunter, please! Help me! HUNTER!"_

I tried to regulate my breathing, tried to stop the flow of tears. It was so rare that I let my emotions get the best of me. I always tried to be strong for the victims and for the families, but as I said earlier, this case was hitting too close to home.

 _"What they did to Katie took a long time. It was very violent and we know Katie screamed. Yet no calls from complaining neighbors. Why?" Rossi asked._

 _"There weren't any," Payton shook his head._

 _"The abduction site is nine miles north of the dumpsite on the edge of town," Reid led the team and the detective into another room and went to the map he'd drawn out on a clear whiteboard. "Both are indicators of a comfort zone, so I'm assuming the kill site is somewhere between these two points."_

 _"That's a wide area," Payton started to roll up his sleeves._

 _"Do a grid search. Narrow it down to wooded areas, industrial sites, abandoned houses. He needed privacy and he needed a controlled environment," Hotch ordered._

 _"What's critical right now is a heavy police presence," Rossi added._

 _"Rossi, in the morning I want you and Reid to go and search Jack Vaughan's house. Tell McCarthy to come with you too. Prentiss, Morgan, and I will go to where the girls were last seen."_

 _Rossi nodded and stepped away from the bulletin board. He barely knew her yet, but he felt compelled to look for McCarthy and see if she was okay. He went outside and found her leaning against the outside wall of the station, wiping at her cheeks. She stared up at the moon in the sky, its light reflecting against her pale face. She tried to turn away, to hide from him, but he knew she had been crying. He felt a wrenching sensation in his gut at the thought of her being this upset. He felt protective of the girl, but not necessarily in a fatherly way. He wasn't sure exactly what he felt about her. But at that moment, words were failing him._

 _"I, um, grew up in a suburb outside of Boston," McCarthy began, cracking the joints in her fingers, thumbs, and wrists. Her voice shook a little, but she seemed to keep what little composure she had. "And my best friend in the entire world was named Cassandra Monroe. We were the typical 'every brunette needs a blonde best friend' kinda girls. We did everything together. We were inseparable._

 _"One night when we were fifteen…we went to the movies—just like Katie and Lindsey. And we met these older guys. They kept flirting with us and they even sat next to us in the theater, as if we were on a double-date. They asked if we wanted to hang out. We were supposed to sleep at Cassandra's house because her parents were going to be out for the weekend, so we decided we might as well._

 _"They brought us to their house, only it didn't look like they were supposed to be there. There wasn't any furniture other than a couch and a couple mattresses on the floor upstairs. They didn't even park in the driveway. I found out later that they were squatting in this house on the outskirts._

 _"Anyway, the guys started giving us alcohol. I made sure not to drink too much, but Cassandra's parents were strict with her, so she wanted to rebel as much as she possibly could. The, um, the guy who picked her, his name was Tyler O'Connell. He j-just kept pouring vodka down her throat practically. And eventually he took her upstairs. I tried to follow because I didn't want anything to hap—"_

 _Rossi reached out and grabbed her shoulder. McCarthy's chest started to heave and he could tell she was trying to hold back her tears, to no avail. He felt the urge to pull her into his arms, but he decided against it._

 _"To h-happen to her," McCarthy continued. "But Tyler said they needed to be alone… And the other guy, Bobby White, he told me to stay with him. He tried to f-force me to drink some more…and he kept touching me. And when I wouldn't drink, he tried to kiss me, but I was too nervous about Cassandra being alone with Tyler. I just wanted to go home and go to bed._

 _"Bobby s-said he'd drive us home once they were…they were done with us."_

 _Rossi's grip tightened, knowing where the story was going. Hunter reached up and put her hand over his, just as she'd done when he comforted her after Garcia had been shot. Her skin felt soft against his._

 _"He, um, h-he didn't like it when I told him I wanted to get Cassandra and leave now. So he started hitting me. And he pinned me to the couch," McCarthy finally looked back at Rossi with tears in her eyes._

 _The wrenching feeling came back._

 _"The whole time I k-kept thinking about how mad our parents were going to be. Mine were nervous about the two of us being alone over the weekend and they weren't even half as strict as Cassandra's. I tried to calculate how many weeks I'd be grounded when they found out we'd g-gone home with these guys. I tried to do anything and everything in my power to keep my mind off of what was happening to me._

 _"U-Upstairs, I could hear Cassandra and Tyler fighting. He must have tried the same thing. But Cassandra was always scrappier than me in those days, more likely to put up a fight. I could hear her screaming for me to h-help her," McCarthy looked back towards the moon. "I heard the two of them fall on the floor. And I could hear her struggling. And then there was n-nothing._

 _"Bobby finished with me and started to hit me again, telling me not to t-tell anyone what happened. He th-threw me on the floor and I hit my head. I pretended to pass out. He turned away from me to get more alcohol and that's when I got up and made a run for it. It was my only chance to s-save us. I didn't know that Cassandra had already been k-killed._

 _"Bobby chased me outside, but I'd gotten a decent head start. I kept screaming, hoping there would be neighbors around to hear me because I knew he would catch up eventually. Luckily, Marcia Holmsby lived a few doors down from that v-vacant house. She hollered for me to come in. I sprinted onto her porch and her husband, Ted, came out with his rifle. He kept it pointed at B-Bobby until the police came. Marcia pulled me into her living room and tried to shield me from the window, but I could see that T-Tyler had set the house on fire with Cassandra's body in it. I really don't like fire to this day because of that."_

 _Rossi was surprised when Hunter quickly turned around and buried her face in his neck, her arms thrown around his waist as if done on an impulse. He pressed his hands into her back and put his chin on her head without hesitation._

 _Hunter stepped back a moment later and hugged herself. "Sorry. That was…" She looked away and wiped another tear. "You must think I'm so pathetic, crying on the job."_

 _"I don't think you're pathetic," Rossi said, wishing she had stayed in his arms just a second longer. "Everyone needs an emotional release, especially in this career."_

 _Hunter attempted a smile. "Garcia says if you stop being affected by things, you lose parts of yourself."_

 _"She's right. It's important to keep yourself together in the field," he reached out and grabbed her shoulder again. "But if you need a minute, you need a minute."_

 _"I_ definitely _needed a minute," Hunter bounced her eyebrows, chuckling bitterly. "Thank you for listening."_

 _"Anytime."_

 _"You and Hotch are the only ones who know," she caught Rossi's eye. "I haven't even told Emily yet…"_

 _"We're all entitled to our own secrets," Rossi said. He himself was holding a pretty big one from just about everyone except for Garcia._

 _"Right," Hunter whispered._

 _At that moment, the doors to the station opened up and the team came spilling out. Prentiss and Morgan flocked to McCarthy's sides._

 _"Everything okay?" the former asked, putting her arm around McCarthy._

 _"Yeah, nothing to worry about," Hunter attempted another smile. "We'll talk later. I need some sleep and I need it now."_

 _"Cheer up, Mick, you'll be working with Rossi tomorrow," Morgan nudged her in the ribs, clearly not knowing the heaviness of why she was upset._

 _He'd tried to speak quietly, but Dave heard every word. Rossi noticed McCarthy's cheeks gain some color and smirked to himself before following the crowd to their Suburbans so they could check into their hotel for the night._

* * *

I sat on Lindsey's bed, opening her drawers with Reid and Rossi while Jack and Mannan watched from the doorway.

"What happened to Lindsey's mother?" Rossi asked.

"Does it matter?" Mannan countered.

"It does to Lindsey," Rossi said.

"It's called victimology," Reid crossed the bedroom. "I-It helps us understand more about Lindsey."

"How?" Jack asked.

"How she carries herself. How she interacts socially with others," I stood up.

"She's just like any other fifteen year-old."

I went over to her closet.

"No, she's not," Rossi said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Everything in our house is an externalization of ourselves," Reid explained.

"This room isn't what you'd expect of a teenage girl," I added. "No JT posters. No framed pictures. No journals. No cuddly toys. Walls are a mute tone. All this suggests that Lindsey keeps herself hidden. She's shy and shares very little with others."

"Except to one person—Katie," Reid said just before his phone rang. "Garcia?" he stepped out of the bedroom.

"All that from this room, huh?" Mannan said in a skeptical voice.

"Is she wrong?" Rossi asked, glancing at me.

Jack had nothing to say. Eventually he and Mannan retreated from the doorway. Rossi and I found them talking to Reid, who sat at their laptop in the study.

"Excuse me," Reid stepped past them and stood beside me behind Rossi.

"Doesn't look much like a home," the older agent challenged when the two men turned around to stare at us in the hall. "State-of-the-art security system, but the furniture looks rented."

"The walls are bare of any real art," I folded my arms across my chest. "The shelves are devoid of any family photos."

"Spyware wipes your computer history daily," Reid said.

"What are you getting at, Agent?" Mannan asked.

"In the recording, Katie said what you'd expect of any teenager about to die. She begged for her life. Lindsey did exactly the opposite," Rossi said, making Jack more and more uncomfortable.

"Which is what?" he looked up at him.

"Lindsey's e-emotional response and the-the words she chose to say in a situation as violent as the-the one she faced strongly suggest—"

"Look," Rossi held up a hand to stop him. "Lindsey was either coached or she's experienced sexual abuse before."

"Oh, you _son of a bitch_!" Jack lunged, but Mannan jumped in front to hold him back.

"Jack! Jack!" he grunted.

"No, let me go!"

Jack grabbed at Mannan's jacket, lifting it up, showing a firearm tucked into the back of his pants.

"Gun!" I withdrew my own weapon and pointed. Rossi and Reid did as well. "Put your hands where I can see them, both of you. Do not move."

"Stop," Mannan lifted his hands, but didn't raise them all the way in the air like Jack did. "Okay? Okay, just calm down. I'm gonna reach into my pocket…and I'm gonna take out a badge. Just calm down," Mannan glared at me. He pulled out his badge and displayed it to us slowly. "Okay? United States Marshal." He put the badge away. "Jack and Lindsey are under my authority."

"Which is what?" Rossi asked.

"Witness protection," I lowered my Glock.

* * *

"What's going on?" Hotch asked, entering the front door of the house. He, Prentiss, Morgan, JJ, and Payton had driven over, meeting Katie's parents outside.

"Jack's in witness protection," I told him.

"Ten years. Must be real important," Rossi deadpanned.

"Why didn't you tell us immediately?" Hotch demanded.

"Because he's a state's witness whose identity needs to be protected at all costs," Mannan said evenly. "You know, Jack, this may not have anything to do with—"

"With what? His past?" Rossi interjected.

"Jack, every person in this room, with the exception of him," Hotch gave Mannan a pointed glance, "is here for your daughter."

"…If this does have anythin' to do with me, they'll be comin' out of Boston," Jack looked up from his seat on the couch. "Irish-American. Two or more men."

"Let's get them back to the station and keep them there until this is over," Hotch said.

I walked out of the house with Jack, Reid, and Rossi, but Hotch caught up to me before I got onto the doorstep. He grabbed onto my elbow and I turned to look at him.

"I know this case must be tough for you, McCarthy, and I know you've been trying to keep your baggage at the door, but nobody's perfect. If you need another minute, please take one," he said softly.

"I already took enough of a minute last night," I gave him a half-smile. "I talked it out with Rossi and I feel better."

"Glad to hear it," he nodded. "We all have our issues with Boston."

My eyebrows perked up at that. I'd heard that he'd worked on the Boston Reaper case back when that serial killer was in full flux. I remembered when all of those murders were occurring in the mid-to-late '90s. They stopped out of nowhere and everyone assumed the Reaper had been arrested on a different charge or killed.

I followed Hotch to the driveway where Bruce was approaching, being tailed by his wife and half our team.

"Mr. Owen, please don't make this harder than it is," Payton said, trying to stop him.

"You're lying to me. Jack?" Bruce said.

"Mr. Owen, please calm down," JJ said.

"Let go of me. What's goin' on?" Bruce picked up his pace as Rossi and I walked Jack to an SUV. Morgan stepped over to block him from getting to the other father. "I wanna know what he did to my Katie."

"Okay, first you need to calm down, sir," Morgan held out his arm to stop Bruce as I opened the door for Jack.

"Don't tell me to calm down! Why are you arresting him?"

"We're just asking him questions, that's it," I said after shutting the door.

"About what?" Lori asked.

"JACK! IF YOU HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS, I SWEAR, I WILL KILL YOU!" Bruce yelled, trying to fight his way past Derek.

"That's enough! Sir, that's enough!" Morgan held him back.

Bruce finally gave up and embraced his wife.

* * *

Jack threw a pill back in the office room where we were sitting with him.

"Who do you work for?" Hotch asked.

"The McCrellan Corporation from Boston," Jack didn't look up.

"I love how you guys sell that," I scoffed. He immediately trained his eyes on me. "I'm from Lexington. We all knew your so-called 'corporation' was the mob."

"Not officially," Mannan said protectively. "No one's been able to get anything on 'em."

"Until now," Rossi said.

"That's because they murdered anyone who was a threat to them, civilians and cops alike," Emily looked at me for confirmation. I nodded.

"Is that what you did, Jack? Did you eliminate the threat?" Hotch asked. Jack just fiddled with his little yellow container. "Do those pills help the memories or they just hide the real Jack?"

"The only thing that keeps me alive is Lindsey," Jack refused to look at any of us.

"What they did to Katie, do you think that was a message to you?"

"If it is, it's working."

"Do you recognize the method?"

" _I_ didn't send messages. I just went straight to da source."

"In two weeks' time, the McCrellan brothers will face trial," Pat smirked.

"Looks like the McCrellans are gonna walk," Morgan pointed out as Payton got a phone call.

"Where?" Payton asked. "All right, thanks. You were right," he hung up and looked at Hotch. "We just found something in an abandoned house."

"Lindsey?" Jack stood.

"Where, exactly?" Hotch asked as Payton went to the map on the clear board.

"Here," Payton pointed at a white triangle. "On the outskirts of town."

"It's still in the comfort zone," Reid reported.

"What does that mean?"

"It means the unsubs are local. Still here," Rossi told him.

"Let's go," Hotch said. Jack called out to him, but I didn't stick around to eavesdrop.

* * *

We followed Payton's car to the decrepit neighborhood. It almost seemed like a ghost town, like the area where Bobby and Tyler had taken Cassandra and me. It might have also been because it was a gray kinda day, but I got an eerie feeling from the area.

I slid out of the Suburban once it was parked, bulletproof vest strapped on, and met with Hotch, Payton, and the other members of the team in the middle of the road.

"What is it to the dumpsite, five miles?" Hotch asked.

"Six-point-two miles south," Reid corrected.

"Why?" Payton asked.

"Why didn't they dump Katie's body on the other side of town?" Morgan countered.

"And risk heading out on the open road while everyone was looking out for the girls?" Emily added.

"Something forced them to move on," Rossi said from behind me.

I slipped my hands into a pair of rubber gloves and followed Hotch as we filed into the abandoned house. There were empty bottles, cigarette butts, and other garbage thrown everywhere. I even noticed some blood stains on the walls and carpet. One ballet flat was lying not far from a pink cell phone. I squatted down to pick it up. I turned it over and saw the letters KD written in fake jewel stickers on the back.

"Katie's cell phone," I sighed.

"Two different sets of footprints," Morgan looked at the blood on the floor. "So two unsubs."

I gulped and exchanged glances with Rossi, who was already staring at me. It seemed like he was making sure I wouldn't get upset again. But I wasn't lying when I spoke to Hotch the night before; I felt better after we'd talked.

"Jack said there'd be two of them," Payton recalled.

"There's cigarette butts everywhere. For professionals, this is a real mess," Emily said.

"All the beer and liquor bottles," Hotch muttered,

"This could be the belt they used to strangle Katie," Emily crouched by the discarded accessory and picked it up.

"You'd think they'd just wanna do the job and move on," Morgan said.

"If they're sending a message, why obliterate the ID and hide the body?" Rossi asked.

"Why not go straight to the source?" Hotch added.

"Garcia checked all the names against the ICE database and nothing," Morgan reported.

"Katie and Lindsey may have left the movie theater of their own free will, but they sure didn't count on coming here," Hotch said.

"So this has nothing to do with the mob," Payton shook his head.

"Hey, guys, this blood trail goes all the way out the back here," Morgan said from the back sliding glass door. We followed him outside to where there was more blood and a lot of broken glass. "Must have run out this way."

"Maybe it was Lindsey," Payton theorized as we followed the trail through a missing part of the fence.

"Well, whoever it was, they lost a lot of blood," Emily said.

"It's thinner the further we go," Reid said.

"It's an arterial bleed," I added, coming to the end of it and taking my gloves off. "It stops here."

"Okay, spread out. Search the grounds and every house," Hotch ordered.

I pulled out my Glock and approached one of the houses further down the road from everyone. I tried to turn the knob, but it was locked. I channeled my inner Morgan and kicked it down, holding out my gun. The house was empty from what I could tell as I checked each room. It looked similar to the others—bottles and trash everywhere, even a few drops of blood. Teenagers were probably partying in there all the time. But that didn't necessarily explain the blood.

I walked up the stairs, gun at the ready, and entered each room. Outside one of them was a bloody footprint. The door was ajar. I kicked it open and held out my gun, but there was no one in there.

No one living, anyway.

I lifted the comm. piece in the collar of my blouse up to my mouth. "Guys, last house on the left, second floor. I've got something."

Lying on the floor was the corpse of a teenage boy. He had curly dark hair and his skin was pale as a ghost. He had small cuts and marks all over his face, arms, and hands. His milky eyes had probably been brown before his death. His hands were over his stomach, covering the stab wounds on his torso. His dark tan pants were stained up and down with his own blood. There was even a dried trail coming out of his mouth.

I crouched down beside him and analyzed his body, waiting for someone else to show up. I noticed his cell phone lying open by his thigh. I bunched up one of my gloves and picked up the device just as someone smelling of cologne stepped in.

"He was stabbed three times," I told Rossi as he took a knee across from me.

"Look at his face," he said.

"Scratch marks. Both arms. And a bite mark on his hand." I looked up at Rossi. "All defensive wounds."

"At some point for him, things got out of hand, and he wanted out."

"And whoever he was with wasn't about to let that happen."

"He makes a run for it and…gets stabbed in the process. It's dark. They can't find him."

"They think he's gone to the police so they have to think fast. They take Katie and dump her across town."

"And to maintain some amount of control, they take Lindsey," Rossi looked at me.

"This is one of our unsubs," I glanced down at the boy. "We just need to find his friends."

* * *

"Defensive wounds, bite indentations, scratch marks on his face, hands, and arms all indicate that he was involved in the murder and abduction of Katie and Lindsey," Hotch delivered to the team and the police force, gesturing to the pictures of the boy tacked up on the bulletin board.

"He's just a teenager," Payton shook his head.

"So were the Lords of Chaos," Emily pointed out from her seat next to mine. "Three teenagers bewitched by a boy named Kevin Foster. Kevin persuaded his friends to murder their own high school teacher."

"Social dynamics of teenage boys," Rossi commented. "In this case, intoxicated by drugs and alcohol. When worked up into the frenzy by a dominant male, the adolescent mind can be pushed past what the adult mind can be pushed past what the adult mind perceives as acceptable."

"What started out as a good time quickly devolved, and Katie fell victim to the violent, drunken rage of a juvenile gang," I folded my arms across my chest.

"We believe this unsub got scared and wanted out," Rossi pointed to the picture of the boy.

"And the dominant male, in order to maintain control, attacked him," Hotch said.

"Douglas Silverman, eighteen years old," Reid entered the room. He rushed to the bulletin board and tacked up the boy's school picture.

"We need to interview kids in his class, parents, teachers. Find out who his friends were," Hotch said.

"It's at least two or more boys," Rossi told everyone. "One older, early-to-mid-twenties."

"He'll think of himself as a real badass. Somebody who broke the rules, defied the system," Morgan said.

"And have flunked or got kicked out of high school, possibly the same one. He'll also have a record—petty theft, larceny," Emily added.

"But Douglas Silverman's been missing for two days. How come no one's called?" Payton asked.

"It's a three day weekend. His parents are out of town or he calls and says he's okay," JJ told him.

"And now that the weekend's over, I can tell you with what's happened, it's gonna end violently," Hotch said ominously.

* * *

"His name's Doug Silverman," I said, presenting Jack the school picture of the boy. "He went to the same high school as Katie and Lindsey."

"Never seen 'im," Jack said.

"Are you sure about that?" Rossi questioned. He was sitting on the same table in the small room as me. Mannan was in a chair by my elbow.

"I knew every person—boy or girl—who came into Lindsey's life. Every detail. I had to. I can't afford to forget a face. His I've never seen," Jack paced.

"Maybe these guys she didn't want you to meet," Rossi suggested. Jack stopped in front of him. "Afraid of what you might say or do."

"Lindsey and I don't have any secrets."

"That's not quite true, though, is it?" I cocked my head.

"No, it _is_ true. She knows who I am, what I was," Jack said in a surprisingly calm voice. Must have been the pills.

"Ten years ago, your wife died in a car accident. Is that why you turned state witness?" Rossi asked.

"I promised my wife on her deathbed that I would do whatever was necessary to protect Lindsey."

"Did you tell Lindsey it was supposed to be _you_ in that car and not her mom?"

"…Yes."

"Why, then, with all that you taught her, would she allow herself to get caught up in this?"

"She wouldn't."

"What about Katie?" I stepped in.

Jack closed his eyes as if in realization. When he opened them, he looked outside the window to where Bruce and Lori were. Morgan and JJ had just talked to them. "Lindsey protected Katie like, uh, like a sister."

"So if a few boys pulled up curbside and offered Katie a ride…?" I trailed off.

"Lindsey would have gone along to make sure she was okay," Jack filled in.

"Lindsey is still alive because of what you taught her," Rossi said.

"I taught her to stay away from men like me," Jack said morosely.

Bruce suddenly knocked on the door and opened it up. "I'd like to speak to Jack, if I may. To apologize."

"Sure," Mannan nodded.

* * *

Jack had escaped and assaulted Mannan, taking his car with him. I piled into a Suburban with Rossi and Morgan and we drove to the construction site where Hotch and Emily had just met with Doug Silverman's father. Payton and JJ had followed us.

"Jack's taken off," Emily lowered her phone as she and Hotch approached us.

"We heard," Morgan told her.

"Where's he gonna go? He can't know where Lindsey is," Payton said.

"No, but he might know who's got her," Hotch pointed out.

"How?" JJ asked.

"You showed Bruce Owen Doug's photo, right?"

"He recognized it," Morgan said.

"Which means he knows who Doug's friends are," Hotch finished.

"So now he's sent a psychopath after his daughter's killer," I sighed.

"Garcia's got a name," Emily said, her phone at her ear. "Ryan Phillips, twenty-eight."

"Let's get a unit over to Phillips' house before Jack turns up there," Hotch said.

"One thing's for sure, we know Ryan won't be there," Rossi pointed out.

I folded my arms across my chest. "We'd better figure out where he is before Jack does."

Payton stepped to the side and answered a phone call as we strapped our vests on again. I bent over and pulled my hair into a messy bun.

"Three day weekend, you've gotta find a secure, private location. Where?" Hotch asked.

"Army of cops and feds all over town. It's gonna be real hard," Morgan said.

"Every abandoned building, warehouse, lock-ups—it's all been searched," JJ tied her hair back.

"Agents, it seems Jack just paid a kid named Taylor Coleman a visit. Paramedics are working on him now," Payton came over as Hotch's phone rang.

"Reid, good news, please," Hotch said. He closed his eyes, probably frustrated that the doctor had a tough time being concise. "Reid, where is he? … I'll meet you there, and Reid—be careful." Hotch hung up. "Mayford High School."

We quickly got into our vehicles and sped over to the school. There were two cars in the parking lot. I hoped to God one of them didn't belong to Jack Vaughan. But the moment we had parked and got out of our vehicles, there was a loud shotgun blast. We ran towards the school.

"I think it came from in here," Morgan said as we darted through the quad.

"Let's go," Hotch said as we readied our guns.

Morgan held the door open for us, yelling for some of Payton's men to hang back as we entered the empty hallway. A bathroom door ahead of us swung open and we found Jack and his raven-haired daughter exiting it. She was bare-foot and her mouth was bloody. She was wearing Jack's sweatshirt, clinging to his arm.

"Ho! Hey!" Jack lifted his hands in the air.

Lindsey wrapped her arms around his waist. Emily and JJ walked them out of the school, but I followed the men into the bathroom. We found Reid standing immobile. He was staring at the body of Ryan Phillips, who had been shot in the face.

"You okay, Reid?" Morgan asked as Hotch slowly approached the corpse.

"I…I tried," Reid whispered hoarsely. "I tried, really. I couldn't… What's gonna happen to Jack?"

"It depends…" Rossi holstered his gun, "how important a witness he is."

I closed my eyes, a dark part inside of me trying to imagine that Bobby and Tyler were also lying on this floor. The rational part of me knew that they were sitting in prison, Bobby waiting for his fifteen year sentence to be completed, Tyler in there for twenty-five-to-life.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around and opened my eyes. Morgan and Hotch had left. Reid was still gaping at the body. Rossi's eyes were trained on me. I pursed my lips and squeezed Reid's arm comfortingly, leaving the bathroom.

* * *

 _"It is a wise father who knows his own child." –William Shakespeare_

We got back to the office later that evening. Everyone headed to the bullpen, but I decided to hang back at the Wall of Fallen Heroes.

"Gotta make a phone call," I said, pulling my phone out of my back pocket.

"Don't make it too long, Mick, we've got reports to do," Morgan grinned.

"Worry not, _mon ami_ ," I winked, faking a smile.

I readjusted the strap of my go-bag on my shoulder and watched as everyone went past me. Rossi looked back and I nodded at him, my smile feeling a bit more genuine. He nodded back and turned a corner. I dialed the Holmsbys' number, not hesitating for a second to press the call button. I leaned against the wall, listening to the dial tone. I hoped it wasn't too late for a casual phone call—Marcia was in her mid-sixties.

" _Hello?_ " answered the voice of an older woman with a thick Massachusetts accent.

"Hi, Marcia? It's Hunter," I said.

" _Well, I'll be. Huntah McCahthy. How ah ya, dahlin'?_ "

I smiled so widely that it almost hurt my face. I felt a tear brim, only this time it was out of happiness. "I'm good. How are you?"

" _Bettah now, honey. Bettah now._ "

"How's, uh, Ted?"

" _Not good, actually. He's got lung cancah, stage four._ "

"I'm sorry to hear that," I felt a heavy feeling in my chest. "My thoughts are with you."

" _Thank you, that means a lot. He's sleepin' now, but if you want, I can tell him you said hi in the morning, all right?_ "

"Of course," I let the tear fall.

" _The doctahs don't think he'll last much longah. He's in a wicked bad place, but I think that'll cheer 'im up. He's just as proud a' you as he is the rest a' our kids._ "

"That's so nice to hear," I nodded, even though she couldn't see it.

" _Sometimes I even think he's_ more _proud a' you_ ," Marcia laughed, her voice husky from a lifetime of smoking cigarettes.

I smiled, feeling another tear come.

" _Can I ask you a favor, honey?_ "

"Anything," I wiped at the tear. "Anything you need, I'll do it."

" _When he…when it's his time…_ " Marcia sighed. " _Will you come to the funeral?_ "

"Absolutely," I nodded. "I would be honored."

" _Good, good. I know he'd want that._

" _Well, I know you must be busy, little Ms. FBI profilah. I won't keep you from savin' lives. I'm glad you called, Huntah_."

"I'm glad I did too," I gulped.

" _All right, honey._ "

"Oh, Marcia—"

" _Hmm?_ "

"Thank you."

" _For what, dahlin'?_ "

I rubbed my neck, "Just…thank you."

" _Okay? I dunno what yah welcome for, but yah welcome, honey_."

Another tear fell.

"Good night, Marcia."

" _Night._ "

I hung up the call and took a deep breath, wiping the last tear off my face. I put my phone in my pocket and composed myself, before heading into the bullpen.


	7. Lucky Number Four

**"Is it just** me, or do we need a cheeky group name?" Garcia asked over her margarita. "Something cute. No, no—something _sexy_."

"Haven't we tried to do this before?" Emily grinned.

"Oh, like when we tried to assign each other _Sex and the City_ roles and it ended horribly?" JJ sipped her Jack and Coke.

"That's only because you two couldn't agree on who was Carrie and who was Samantha, and Emily and I were annoyed because we were both Miranda," I cracked up at the memory.

"Who could be our Charlotte?" Garcia tapped her chin.

Emily and I exchanged sidelong glances. "Reid," we said in unison, clinking our respective mojito glass and Samuel Adams lager bottle together before throwing them back.

It was nice to sit back with the girls at The Auld Dubliner, having drinks, and making merry. My soul needed it after that last case.

"I wish I could really be Carrie Bradshaw. All those shoes…" JJ crooned.

It was still relatively early in the bar. The loud music hadn't begun to play, nor had the dance floor officially opened up yet. Morgan had said he might show up later to get, and I quote, "the party started". We were waiting for our dinners to come to the booth we were sitting in. When JJ, Garcia, and I first started hanging out together, we'd made a pact to never order salads around each other. Emily had been more than happy to oblige when she joined our unit.

"A Mr. Big could really come in handy, too," I nodded.

"Hell, I'd take a Mr. Medium," Emily joked.

"I think the closest thing we have to a Mr. Big is Rossi," JJ smirked and then trained her eyes on me. "He's kinda cute, isn't he? For an old guy, I mean."

"He's not _that_ old," I took a drink to hide the smile on my face.

"Kiss-ass," Emily nudged me.

"Hunter Lynn McCarthy," Garcia leaned over the table. "He's _ancient_."

"Oh, come _on_ ," I scoffed. "Just because you're twitterpated with a man-child doesn't make anyone older than him ancient."

"Kevin Lynch is not a man-child," Garcia said defensively. "He's just in touch with his inner…" Her face contorted in a frown when she realized the word that was about to come out of her mouth.

"Child?" JJ filled in with a smirk.

"Growing old is inevitable. Growing up is a choice," Garcia sniffed.

I was happy that the conversation had turned away from Rossi. I wasn't sure if the time was right to confirm that I had feelings for him.

"Who was that guy you got cozy with a couple years ago?" JJ looked across the table at me. "Detective Kim?"

"Oh, you told me about him," Emily grabbed my arm. "The one in LA, right?"

I bounced my eyebrows, taking another drink. "Love was really in the air on that case, wasn't it? I think I still have that tabloid magazine cover of Reid and Lila Archer at my house."

 _I stood in the doorway of the hospital room in Cedars-Sinai. We'd just caught Maggie Lowe, the stalker with a crush on the rising starlet. Detective Owen Kim had survived a gunshot wound through the shoulder from the unsub before we nabbed her._

 _"Shouldn't you be on a plane back to Quantico by now?" Kim asked in a slightly sluggish voice. He had a smile on his handsome face._

 _"Wheels are gonna be up in an hour," I shrugged, coming in. I sat in a chair by his side. "How do you feel?"_

 _"Like hell," he sighed. "You ever been shot before?"_

 _"Not yet, knock on wood," I pulled my knees up to my chest._

 _"I heard you and your team got the guy. Only the guy was a girl?"_

 _"Yep," I nodded. "And, to be fair, it was Reid who really got her. I can't take credit for that."_

 _"Beautiful_ and _modest," Kim smiled._

 _"Shut up," I turned my face away to hide the blush on my cheeks. He'd been brazenly flirting with me throughout the investigation and I'd let him._

 _"Are you sure you can't stay in Los Angeles for a little while longer? I'm wounded. I need someone to nurse me back to health," he smirked._

 _"I think you need to lay off on the morphine," I snickered. He seemed a bit loopy. It was adorable._

 _Kim reached out slowly and grabbed one of my hands. He pulled it up to his mouth and kissed each of my knuckles individually._

 _"See my wallet on the bureau over there?" he cocked his head across the room, releasing my digit from his grasp. "Be a doll and give it to me?"_

 _I stood up and followed his orders, sitting back in my chair as he fumbled through it. He pulled out a business card and held it between two fingers. He made to hand it to me, but before I could grab it from him, he pressed it against his lips and made a loud smooching noise. I grinned, taking it from him._

 _"Don't be a stranger, now," he said._

 _I reached into my back pocket and grabbed my own wallet. I happened to be using a trifold men's wallet at the time. I took out my own business card and put it on the nightstand._

 _"Let me know any time you're on the East Coast," I told him._

 _"I might catch a flight," he took my hand again and interlocked our fingers._

"Did anything ever happen with you two lovebirds?" JJ rested her chin on her fist.

"Did anything ever happen with you and _LaMontagne_?" I fired back, drawling on the New Orleans-bred detective's name. We'd helped him close a case that his father had been working on before the senior's unfortunate death during Hurricane Katrina. Will had flirted a lot with the blonde and we were all positive that they'd kept up their correspondence, even though JJ never wanted to admit it.

"Where's that food? I'm starving," JJ quickly changed the subject, looking out toward the kitchen.

I grinned. "No, Owen and I talked on the phone a couple times, but life got in the way as usual. I think I'm destined to be a spinster."

"Oh, I am with you there," Emily nodded. "We're gonna be like nuns, except instead of being married to the Lord, we'll be married to the Bureau."

"Amen," I drew a fake tear down my cheek with my finger.

"You could always be number four," Garcia looked at me.

"Hmm?" I cocked my head.

"Oh, my darling, Hunter. As if you didn't already know that I have all the deets on everyone on the team," she tsked. "Rossi's been married and divorced three times. You could be lucky number four."

"Penelope!" I hissed.

"Well, if he had to get married to anyone on the team, I think you'd definitely be the biggest contender," JJ shrugged.

" _What_?" I felt my cheeks heat up.

"Oh, yeah, Hunter, definitely," Emily nodded, jerking her thumb in my direction. "I might have said Hotch at first, but now that you've got me thinking…"

"How on earth did this scenario arise?" I started cracking my knuckles nervously.

"Please, Hunter—you're the only new face he's even _tried_ to bond with," JJ pointed out.

"And didn't you tell me you had a framed picture of him in your dorm room?" Emily dug her elbow into my side.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I gnawed on the inside of my cheeks, trying to hide the smile on my face. There was something I was dying to say, but I couldn't let myself voice it.

"Ooh, could you imagine how juicy an inter-BAU romance would be?" Garcia pursed her lips. "Talk about _sexy_."

I laughed and rubbed at my neck.

"Ah, yes, the food," JJ beamed as our waiter approached our table.

"You're lucky I'm so hungry, Hunter," Emily muttered. "Saved by the meal. For now."

I had never been so happy to see chicken tenders and fries in my life. I hoped above all hope that we'd get drunk enough that night to forget this conversation even happened. And as we ate, I kept thinking about the sentence I'd kept myself from saying:

 _Don't get my hopes up._


	8. Limelight

**I sat at** my desk, fiddling with my Koosh ball, when Rossi came down the stairs to the fax machine. Putting my ball down, I took a sip of the water bottle on my desk. We'd gone to the Auld Dubliner two nights before and I was still feeling a little dehydrated.

Rossi turned away from the machine, several sheets of paper in his hands. He took a couple of slow steps, reading whatever had been sent to him. I saw Hotch step over to him.

"You got something?" he asked.

"Not sure," Rossi looked up. "From an old storage unit. Case agent from the Philly field office sent it to me."

Curiosity getting the best of me, I stood up and started to walk over to them.

"Somebody you know?" Hotch asked.

"She knows me," Rossi shrugged. "Y'know…"

"Ah, a fan," Hotch murmured. "Your world's a very crowded place, isn't it?"

"You'd be surprised," Rossi looked up at me as I came up to Hotch's elbow and looked over his shoulder at the graph paper he was examining.

"This is detailed," I hummed, grimacing at the handwritten and drawn torture plans. Hotch glanced at me and handed me one of the sheets. I started to read some of the writing. "Future tense. These are fantasies."

"That agent thinks it could be more than that," Rossi said.

"There's more of this?" Hotch gestured to the sheets. I handed him back the one he gave me.

"A few boxes in the field office. I'd like to drive up there, look at the rest of the material, make a judgement from that," Rossi told him.

Hotch glanced at me again. "Take McCarthy with you."

I tried to maintain my composure as much as possible. I looked into Rossi's dark eyes as Hotch left and I offered a sheepish grin.

* * *

"So, you're from Lexington?" Rossi asked as we hit the road.

"Born and raised," I nodded, fishtailing my hair into a braid over my right shoulder from the passenger seat. "And yourself?"

"Long Island," he told me.

"Nice, what part?"

"Commack."

"Oh, right. I knew that—it was in one of your books.

"I actually knew some people from East Hampton when I was at school. Beautiful area," I rambled.

"It is," he said, turning on the radio.

I immediately felt like he was turning on the tunes to shut me up. I gulped, sinking into my seat, still braiding. I couldn't have blamed him if that were his reasoning. Small talk was not exactly my forte… I looked out the window and watched the scenery flying by.

 _Rossi kept turning the dial until he landed on one of those golden oldies stations. Mere moments into the song playing, he remembered that he wasn't the only middle-aged person in the car. McCarthy was in her late-twenties, twenty-eight at the absolute oldest. Rossi liked music from all decades, but he wasn't sure about McCarthy._

 _"Sorry, you probably don't want to listen to Dion," he was about to switch the station, but then he felt Hunter's fingertips lightly on his wrist. He looked over and saw the brunette squinting up at the ceiling of the car, as if trying to recall something._

 _"_ She always wears charms, diamonds, pearls galore/She buys 'em at the five and ten cents store/She wants to be just like Zsa Zsa Gabor/Even though she's the girl next door _," Hunter sang along with a grin, looking at Rossi. "I love Dion."_

 _"Really?" he glanced at her, admiring her musical taste and her understated alto singing voice._

 _"My parents used to play doo-wop a lot when we were growing up. My brothers fucking hated it, but I always dug it. I mean, don't get me wrong, I still thought I was going to marry Eddie Vedder when I was a teenager, but…"_

 _Rossi smiled in spite of himself. He hoped he wasn't coming off as unfriendly or cold with his silences and short sentences. He could tell by her pink cheeks that McCarthy was getting embarrassed of her babbling._

 _"Sorry, I keep talking," she sank into her seat a little more, tying off her braid._

 _"No, please," Rossi encouraged. "It's a three hour drive."_

 _McCarthy nodded, absentmindedly tapping her fingers against her thigh to the song. Rossi was amused by the way she was acting. From what he'd seen of her in the field, she seemed pretty confident in her abilities as an FBI agent, but in the car alone with him, she was just short of squirming. He would even say it was kind of cute._

 _No part of him thought she was acting like this for any reason other than being one of his "fans". (God, how he hated using that word. "Admirer"? No, that was still too much. "Person who held him in a higher regard than the average bear" would have to suffice for now.) Though he'd heard Morgan teasing her in the past, Rossi didn't think for a second that McCarthy would ever have feelings for him as anything more than a mentor. He was too old for her._

 _McCarthy stared out the window of the car again. Rossi found himself wishing she'd speak more. He liked hearing her talk._

 _"So, how many brothers do you have?" he asked._

 _"Three older and one younger," she said carefully, as if making an effort to be as concise as possible with her answers._

 _"What do they do?"_

 _"Eddie's a realtor, Rick's a high school teacher, Mike runs a restaurant, and Jamie's finishing up med school," she ticked off her fingers._

 _"You must have a proud set of parents, then," Rossi nodded._

 _"Yeah, I'm sure we've provided a lot of water cooler bragging over the years," McCarthy sat up and crossed her legs._

 _Her phone started buzzing in the cup holder and she pulled it out, furrowing her brow at the contact information._

 _"Everything okay?" Rossi stopped at a red light._

 _"Yyyeeeaaahh," she drew out the word, as if not even sure herself. She opened the flip-phone and pressed it to her face. "McCarthy … I'm actually on the way to a consult right now … No, no, don't worry about it. You have not inconvenienced me in the slightest … Go on … Um, yeah, maybe. That might be nice."_

 _Out of the corner of his eye, Rossi could see the ghost of a smile on Hunter's face. Whoever was on the other line must have meant something to her._

 _"Yeah, I've kinda missed you too," she murmured. "Okay, well, let me know … All right, see you … Bye."_

 _The light turned green not even a full second after Hunter hung up the phone. She almost seemed like she was trying to fight back a smile._

 _"That your boyfriend?" Rossi asked her._

 _She chuckled bitterly. "No, no, no. I am about as single as single can get."_

 _Rossi didn't even realize he was holding his breath until after she answered._

 _"He's just…an old friend."_

* * *

I followed Rossi into the field office. Agents were staring at him, nudging their desk-mates to make sure everyone could see that it was indeed David Rossi walking through their bullpen.

"How do you get used to the staring?" I muttered in his ear. "I've never felt more self-conscious in my life."

"You learn to ignore it," Rossi bounced his eyebrows over his shoulder at me as we headed to the office room up ahead.

"…We have the best resources in the world—one of which is supposedly you," complained the woman with light brown hair inside. She turned and I could see that she had one of those headsets that Garcia used. Her eyes widened a little when she noticed us (or should I say noticed _Rossi_?) in her doorway. "Just-Just get me that match," she lowered her voice and removed the headset. "David Rossi in _my_ office," the woman approached him. "Somebody pinch me."

"You must be Agent Morris," he shook her hand.

"Jill, please," she gazed into his eyes. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

 _Well, if he needs any chopped liver, I'm right here beside him_ , I thought, putting my weight on one leg.

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like for Agent McCarthy and I to get to this," Rossi glanced at me.

"Agent McCarthy," Morris nodded in my direction, not even offering me her hand to shake. I faked a smile. She immediately turned her head back to Rossi. "Thank you both for coming." And then, as if by obligation, she looked at me for a brief moment. "You won't be disappointed."

"What other materials do you have?" I asked.

"We found assorted artwork, torture porn, bondage. But what strikes me is the prose," Morris stepped between us out into the bullpen. "It _screams_ of high-order sexual predator. I think we're onto something big."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Rossi warned as we followed her. She stopped in the middle of the floor, receiving a clipboard from one of her agents. "I assume you ran the name of whoever rented the unit."

"Yeah, the name was fake. Louis Ivey. There's no record of such a person."

"Did he pay in cash?" I asked.

"'Til he went into arrears," Morris handed the clipboard back and continued on her way. "Six months without a payment and the owner is allowed to auction its contents."

"What I've read so far suggests an orderly personality, not likely to miss payments," Rossi pointed out as she held open the door to another room.

"Well, he screwed up. They all do eventually, right?"

I leaned over Rossi's shoulders and sighed, looking at all of the boxes piled inside the room. It looked like it was going to be a long night in Pennsylvania.

"Maybe I _will_ take that coffee."

* * *

I yawned as I shed my rubber gloves after putting all of the boxes back together. Rossi and I had gone over everything as thoroughly as we could. The fantasies of abduction, rape, torture, and death were disturbing, but they ultimately didn't prove to be anything more than just that— _fantasies_.

"Your not-so-secret admirer's going to be so disappointed," I smirked at Rossi as he stood to go deliver Morris our verdict.

He gave me a less than thrilled look and left the room. I snickered and curled up in my seat, knees to my chest. I grabbed my phone from the table-top and saw that it was after hours. I dialed Emily's number, assuming she was home by now.

" _Hey, what's up, Hunter?_ " she said.

"Oh, nothing," I sighed.

" _How's Philly? Did you guys find anything?_ "

"Nope."

" _Huh. So you just called because you miss me?_ "

"Mmm, yes and no," I grinned. "You'll never guess who—"

I lowered my phone and raised my eyebrows. Rossi came back with a tight-lipped grimace. He stood in the doorway of the evidence room with a small baggie in his hand.

" _Hunter?_ "

"One sec, Em," I said into the receiver before putting my phone on the table, getting out of my chair to come closer.

I took the baggie from Rossi and examined it. There were a few locks of blonde hair encased in the plastic. I looked at the man in front of me. He seemed to be trying to read my face.

"She just…had this hair in her office and…didn't tell us about?" I asked incredulously.

Rossi nodded with a sigh.

"How convenient," I rolled my eyes and returned to the table to pick up my phone. "Hey, sorry. I'm gonna have to tell you about it later."

" _Like tonight?_ " Emily asked.

"No, my dear. Looks you guys are coming to the City of Brotherly Love."

* * *

"Is this everything from the unit?" Hotch asked as he and the team met with Rossi, Jill, and me in the evidence room.

"No, we pulled the salient materials and had Philly PD process the rest of the items onsite," Morris told him.

"What else was there?" Emily asked.

"Some books, albums, toys…"

"Toys?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah. Old stuff, like from his childhood. We were able to lift some prints, but AFIS was a bust. He's not in our system."

"Morgan, Prentiss, go back to the unit. See what else it could tell us about the man," Hotch ordered.

"I'll get you directions," Morris said, leading them out of the room.

"We have to establish if this guy's taking his fantasies to the next level," Rossi said.

"We can use these materials to try to identify his signature and connect him to any open cases," Hotch added.

"On the surface, it reads like he wanted to try it all," I crossed one arm over my stomach, grabbing my elbow. "I think isolating one aspect might be tough."

"Reid can dig deeper. Try linguistics. Look for patterns in the handwriting," Hotch said, the last two sentences directed to the doctor in question. "McCarthy, you'll be helping Rossi and myself take the images."

"Find the fetish, find the fiend," Rossi commented.

We started scouring the magazines. I'd like to think I have a very open mind, but a lot of the stuff that I was seeing was enough to turn my stomach. Definitely not stuff I was going to be trying any time soon…

"This is the earliest one I found—1982," Hotch held up a _Boudoir_. "It's tame in comparison to the later stuff. Vintage."

"Do you guys think he was a collector?" I asked.

"Or it was handed down," Rossi surmised across the table from me.

"From his father?" Hotch asked.

"I can still remember my dad's less than skillfully hidden stash," he looked up from another magazine.

"But this guy graduated to the harder stuff—the torture porn," I gestured to the stuff below me. "It's brutal. So many clamps, so little time…"

"It brought out certain desires. The early exposure was a trigger. When I interviewed Bundy, he had a theory about pornography. He said, 'If you want to stop people from becoming like me, don't burn _Catcher in the Rye_ '—"

"'Burn _Hustler_ ,'" I finished, catching Rossi's eye.

Over an hour later, we were looking through some of the unsub's writings. I was sitting criss-cross on the table near where Rossi was in his chair. Hotch had left to do other things.

"Extra-linguistic indicators suggest he's _most_ excited by the prospect of an electric shock," Reid said.

"…As a method of torture. Be specific. When you're in a court, the judge will demand it," Rossi told him.

"See how heavy his handwriting becomes? A-A-At times he's so exhilarated, he actually rips through the page," Reid showed us. I looked over my shoulder to get a better view of the paper on the table. "The idiolect supports it as well. I mean, nowhere else is he as creative in his descriptions."

"Good work. You found a signature that's easy to track," Rossi looked up at him.

I knew he was still trying to acquire the Spencer Reid taste, sometimes getting annoyed with the gangly doctor, but I could tell this was genuine.

"The electrical burns on his victims'll be unmistakable," I said.

* * *

"This is Dana Foster. She's a thirty-four year-old real estate agent from the suburb of Blue Bell. She was murdered five years ago when she went to meet a prospective buyer at a house in Bucks County," JJ told us in a different room of the station, changing the head shot of the woman on the TV screen to some crime scene photos of her. "Her nude body was found in a cellar and she was strangled and raped."

"And here's the torture behavior that Reid identified from the journals. The contact wounds are burn marks, most likely the result of electrical current," Hotch said.

"Any leads on the buyer she went to meet?" Emily asked.

"Fake name," JJ shook her head.

"Louis Ivey," Morris read from a sheet of paper. "Could this guy be any more perfect?"

Emily and I exchanged glances. That was strange wording. Even stoic Aaron Hotchner made a face.

"Were her clothes found at the scene?" Emily looked at the liaison.

"No, how'd you know?" JJ asked.

"He takes them as souvenirs," Morgan said. "And he alters them to fit his own frame."

"So he's bisexual?" Morris assumed.

"Probably not," I shook my head. "Most cross-dressers are heterosexual. It's not uncommon in sexual predators."

"What about her hair?" Rossi asked. "Was any of it missing?"

"Not that was reported," JJ said.

I wanted to give Rossi a high-five for bringing that up. I could see Morris getting uncomfortable. She was rubbing the nape of her neck, as if to hide her hands.

"JJ, contact Garcia and widen the victim search," Hotch ordered. "Rossi and I will go visit the crime scene."

* * *

" _Three females, age thirty-one to thirty-eight_ ," a deflated-sounding Garcia told us once we'd all gathered together, " _discovered off freeways in Maryland, Jersey, and New York. All naked. Burn wounds consistent with the signature_."

"And he disposed of all the bodies in different states to avoid detection," I said.

"Garcia, when were these bodies discovered?" Hotch asked.

" _Between '02 and spring of '03._ "

"After the real estate agent, he changed his methods," JJ said softly.

"Fast learner," Emily bounced her eyebrows.

"Four kills by the age of thirty," Morris seemed impressed. Emily and Morgan had been able to approximate the unsub's age when they dig through his storage unit.

Hotch stared ahead intensely. "And he was just getting started."

* * *

"With four known victims," Hotch stepped through the agents gathered for our profile, "we should start by re-interviewing friends and family. We're looking for a white male in his thirties-to-forties. And with his knowledge of circuitry and wiring, we think that he's either an electrician or an electrical engineer."

"It's a job that may give him access to his victims' home or workplace, an opportunity to observe his targets," Rossi said.

"They're attractive, professional women," Emily stepped forward from the desk she and I had been leaning against. "He sees them as strong, righteous, unobtainable. So he seeks to tear them down, to reduce them to base sexual creatures and punish them."

"He's a true sexual sadist," I added. "He fits a typology we refer to as anger-excitation, meaning he becomes sexually aroused by the suffering of his victims."

"Killing these women is an afterthought. Their _pain_ is what he's after," Rossi said. "And he takes his time to exact maximum stimulation."

"What about his trophies? He keeps their clothes, right?" asked an agent.

"Yes, we believe he's using them for rehearsal fantasies," Emily responded. "By dressing as his victims, he can relive the torture."

"It's during this time that he most likely pleasures himself in order to reinforce his association between suffering and gratification," I said. "And when he becomes dissatisfied with this, he seeks out a new victim."

"Keep in mind, he's been doing this for a long time. And he's been thinking about doing it most of his life. He'll continue to evolve, finding new ways of challenging himself and increasing his stimulation threshold. There are no boundaries for this man," Rossi said.

"Hotch," JJ called out across the room.

* * *

"No, I-I have no doubt that she's highly capable. I'm just—" Reid was trying to string his thoughts together at the table he, Morgan, Emily, and I were sharing at the diner we'd found. "I'm saying that I find her excitement level at the prospect of finding more bodies somewhat unsettling." Jill Morris had delivered an unsanctioned press briefing about the unsub. And trust me, none of us were amused. Hotch reamed her out in the small kitchen of the field office.

"I one hundred percent agree with you, Reid. There's something off about her," I nodded as the waitress delivered our coffees and Morgan's dessert.

"Thank you," Morgan took his pie. "Yeah, JJ said she was making up names for the killer."

"And yet, if she were a man, you'd say she has balls," Emily said.

"Ooh, good point Emily," I snapped my fingers at her statement. "I've almost changed my mind."

"Oh, don't even go there, Prentiss," Morgan leaned in. "This is not a gender thing."

"Right," Emily rolled her eyes. "Let's get back to Reid's map."

"All right. The nearness principle tells us that a killer won't travel far to abduct his victims, but this one's gone to great lengths to spread out his abduction and disposal sites," Reid told us, gesturing to the map he'd brought along with his satchel.

"So the sites are irrelevant to the geographical profile?" I asked.

"Yeah, the only location I can attach a real meaning to is the storage unit."

"Four victims and we got squat," Morgan said while chewing.

"For years he's gone unchecked. I think it's only a matter of time before he grows comfortable and starts killing close to home," Reid theorized.

"Unfortunately that only helps us if there's a fresh kill," Emily held the side of her face in one hand.

Morgan dropped his fork. "So there's a woman out there right now who has to die so we can do our job."

"I knew I should have gone to film school," I sighed, pouring a bunch of sugar packets and cream into my coffee.

* * *

"I had a nightmare the night she went missing. It woke me up, but I forgot it instantly. You know how that happens?"

I nodded politely at the redhead sitting across from me. She was only one of many people who'd come in to report missing women after Morris' transgression. The fame-hungry agent had effectively buried us that morning.

"I know this sounds crazy. I feel like…if I could remember that dream, I'd know what happened to her…"

I'm sure, of all the people that did come in, there were some that reported one of our unsub's victims. But this was proving to be a waste of our time. I was almost thankful when said unsub actually called the tip line, pretending that he saw our guy burying a "bleeder stripped of its clothes" off the interstate.

"Morning," the ME said as Emily, Morgan, and I approached the dumpsite.

"Good morning," Emily responded.

I crouched down by the shallow grave, staring at the nearly naked woman in the ground, still covered with a light layer of dirt. CSI was working around us.

"Body looks well-preserved," I said to the ME, a middle-aged woman on the other side.

"Been some cold snaps the past few months," she looked up at me. "The ground's frozen."

"Check out her stomach," Morgan reached down and dusted off some of the dirt with his gloved fingers.

"Electrical burns," Emily mused.

"Fingers are in really bad shape," Morgan reported, touching the corpse's black digits. "How are her teeth?"

The ME leaned over and pulled the woman's lip down. "Looks good for an ID."

"To say we need a rush on that would be an understatement," I slid my aviators down my nose to make better eye contact. "Please and thank you."

"Yeah," the examiner nodded.

"Thank you."

"Let's get her up," she said to her assistant as we stood and turned away.

"Hey," the assistant called after us. "You guys might wanna stick around."

We exchanged glances and headed back to the grave. Underneath where the corpse had been, a hand was sticking out of the fresh dirt.

* * *

It turned out that those two women had been kidnapped on the same day. Our unsub was doing doubles. Oh, also, that hair in the baggie that _totally_ fooled me? Morris' old blonde hair that she'd kept from her days in the academy. And to top it all off, I received some more news involving the guy.

I entered what felt like a very tense moment between Rossi and Hotch in the boardroom, while Emily, Reid, and JJ stood on the sidelines. I didn't want to interrupt, but I knew that what I had to say was top priority.

"Missing persons flagged a report that was just filed," I said.

"A possible victim?" asked Hotch.

"Uh, the subject's car was found idling at a stop sign…and there was some damage to the back end," I looked at the report.

"Sounds like a bump-and-grab," Reid said.

"Did she fit his profile career, age-wise?" Hotch asked.

"Katrina Townsley, thirty-four. She's a reporter at the _Chronicle_ ," I read.

" _Chronicle_?" Rossi echoed.

He got up and slid past me, briefly touching my shoulder as he went. I guess Morris had been contacted by that particular newspaper moments earlier.

* * *

Morris had been baited into a meeting Katrina Townsley, but ended up getting kidnapped by the unsub instead. Rossi found an email opened on Morris' computer, a handwritten note from said unsub scanned over. He and Reid tracked Morris' cell phone GPS to a parking garage where she'd apparently been attacked and taken. Meanwhile, Garcia had found out that the email was sent from a cybercafé.

We all went to the café, but the barista Hotch spoke to could barely give him a clear description of the unsub. A blonde man who possibly left in a white van. With the help of Reid triangulating on his map, Garcia managed to find the white van belonging to our unsub.

We followed the tactical team into the unsub's house, vests on, guns ready. We cleared all the rooms and went down to the basement.

"FBI!" Hotch shouted as someone from the tactical team kicked the door down.

There he was, a rugged, blue-collar man with white-blonde hair and stubble. Morris had been tied to what looked like an upright bedspring apparatus. Her mouth was gagged and one of the buttons on her blouse had been opened. The unsub didn't even put up a fight when he was thrown to his knees by the tactical men, seeming merely annoyed by his arrest.

I found Kat Townsley, a woman with beautiful auburn hair. She had been stripped to her bra and underwear, her body riddled with burns. I put my fingers on her pulse. It was faint.

"I need a medic," I lifted my sleeve up to my mouth, speaking into the comm. device.

"GET A MEDIC!" Hotch shouted, crouched beside me.

"Hang on, Kat," I murmured to the unconscious woman.

I looked over to Rossi, who had gotten Morris down from the apparatus. She was crying in his arms. If I hadn't been so concerned about Katrina in that moment I might have been able to wax poetic on how sweet Rossi was being to Morris.

* * *

"Jeremy Andrus, forty-one," Hotch read from a journal.

He came in to watch Morgan and Reid interrogate the no longer _unknown_ subject with us. Everyone was in there except for Rossi, who'd gone to see Morris in the hospital.

"Broken home, poverty, trade school, petty crime, lewd behavior—the whole profile's here in black and white," Hotch continued.

"That's a small consolation," I whispered. Katrina had died en route to the hospital the night prior. Andrus was now giving us more victims.

"How many is he up to?"

"Seventeen," JJ said from the glass.

"They haven't even gotten to the 2006 pile yet," Emily said.

"Has he told us where to find the remains?" Hotch wondered.

"No," JJ said. "He doesn't speak. He just points."

And we watched as Andrus silently pointed at another picture.

* * *

"I'm dying to know," Emily said.

"Hmm?" I removed my lips from the mug I was sipping hot chocolate from.

"Out with it, Hunter. I've been waiting with bated breath since you called," she sat on the opposite side of the couch as me on the jet, mirroring my curled up position against the armrest. " _Who_ am I never going to guess and _what_ did they do?"

I chuckled. "Oh, right. I forgot about that."

"I don't think I can stand the suspense one—minute—longer," Emily whacked my knee playfully with each of the last three words.

"Do you ever…keep thinking about something and then something related to it comes up?" I took another sip.

"Don't tell me you think you're psychic now," Emily grinned.

"I knew you were going to say that," I joked, touching my temple with my free hand. "No, it's just…Detective Kim kept getting brought up, whether it be in conversation or just me thinking about him. And then the other day, when Rossi and I were driving to Philly, he called me for the first time in almost two years."

"And what did he want?" Emily cocked a brow.

"He's thinking about coming to Virginia some weekend and he wants to take me out on a _real_ date," I smirked. "He, uh, shared his take-out with me one night during the Lila Archer investigation and tried to convince me later that it counted as a date because he wouldn't take my money."

"How cute," she beamed.

"Yeah," I thought about the half-Japanese detective and felt a small butterfly in my stomach.

"So are you going to take him up on it?"

I twisted my mouth and looked past Emily. Beyond her shoulder, Rossi was sitting in a swivel chair that had been turned in our direction. He'd been in a bad mood since we'd met up with him at the airport. I guess Morris had let her ego get the best of her and he was disappointed in her for seeking out glory for glory's sake. Rossi looked up from the book in his lap and caught my eye. My cheeks heated up. I offered him a small smile and trained my eyes back on Emily.

"I dunno. Part of me hopes something will come up and our plans will fall through," I admitted. "But the painfully single part of me thinks it would be nice to go on a date. And I already know Owen, and I know that I'm attracted to him, so…"

"I think you should do it," Emily said, reaching down to squeeze one of my ankles. "What's stopping you?"

"Other than the fact that he lives on the _opposite_ side of the fucking country?" I snickered. I also glanced over at Rossi, who I think was trying very hard not to eavesdrop.

"Ah, I see your point," Emily nodded. "Well, I still think you should do it. _C'est la vie_."

"'La vie'."

"It could be the start of something new, Hunter Lynn," Emily ignored my stupid joke.

I tried to be covert when I looked at the handsome agent behind her. He had unbuttoned the very top of his shirt and I felt a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was weighing my options in my head.

 _Options?_ the rational part of my brain questioned. _There's only_ one _option. In what world would I ever think there was a possibility of romantic shenanigans with Rossi? He's never even hinted at being attracted to me. And anyway, a no-fraternization seminar is coming up (although I've heard rumors of his playboy days in the past being the reason why those rules and copious seminars even exist). Rossi will have to remain an unattainable crush and nothing more. Kim is the sure way to go._

"All right," I chewed on my lip, tearing my eyes off Rossi. "I'll do it."

* * *

 **Thanks to all of the lovely reviews! This story is a big commitment of my time and the support gives me so much inspiration to get through chapters like this (which hasn't necessarily been my favorite to write). Much love.**

 **-KTW**


	9. Damaged

**Emily stepped into** the bullpen, handing me one of the two coffees in her hand once she approached my desk.

"Medium French vanilla, extra cream, extra sugar," she rolled-off its qualities.

"My savior," I yawned. I'd pay her back by buying her coffee some other time. We'd been doing this since we'd truly become close friends. "Thank you very much."

"You're very welcome," she slid her bag off her shoulder and turned her computer on. She looked up and did a double-take.

"What is it?" I asked.

"What the hell…?" Emily walked away from her desk.  
I stood up and turned to see what she might have seen. The door to Rossi's office had been left open, case files strewn about on his floor. Very uncharacteristic of the agent, who, by the way, was not even there. I followed Emily, who was heading up to investigate.

"The hell are you two going?" Morgan slid back in his chair.

"Go get JJ," Emily told him.

The four of us gathered in Rossi's office, staring at the mess.

"Hotch is in Connecticut, right?" Emily asked.

"With Reid," JJ leaned against the doorjamb. "They left last night. They're doing a custodial interview. Chester Hardwick."

"Oh, damn," I bounced my eyebrows. He was a brutal serial killer, soon to be executed.

"He doesn't need anything else on his mind when he's dealing with a guy like Hardwick," Morgan said.

"So what do we do?" Emily asked.

"You're his favorite, Mick," Morgan looked at me. My cheeks felt warm. "You got any idea what he was working on?"

" _Not_ his favorite, first of all. Second, I have no idea," I shrugged.

"I-I think Garcia might know. He stopped by her place last night," JJ said in a meek voice.

"What?" Morgan furrowed his brow.

"Really?" I cocked my head to the side.

"Why?" Emily asked.

"I'm really not supposed to say."

We all turned around and saw Garcia outside the office in the bullpen, her face contorted in a frown. But we knew there was no way she was going to get out of not saying anything. We filed out of the office and stared down over the railing at her.

"'Cause…he said he wanted to keep it between us," she continued.

"He might need our help," Emily held her arms in a W-shape. She was clearly trying to appeal to the tech analyst's pathos.

"He didn't _ask_ anyone for help," she pointed out.

"Penelope, Rossi is a guy who _color-codes_ his handwritten notes in his notebooks," I said. "Blue pen for evidentiary items, red pen for supposition and theory. He's my personal hero, but even I've gotta say that the guy is a fussy, anal-retentive neat freak who never leaves anything out of its place. I would say _this_ ," I waved a hand towards the office, "is a _scream_ for help."

"He's in Indianapolis on a twenty year-old double-homicide," Garcia said without hesitation. "He said it's time someone pays for it. And he was upset."

"Indianapolis?" Morgan echoed.

"Yeah, he took a commercial flight this morning. He picked up a Bureau SUV half an hour ago," she said.

"Jet's available…" JJ looked at us with a smirk.

"Let's go," Morgan nodded.

* * *

"You know, there's not really much to this file, Garcia," Morgan said as he video-chatted with her on the jet. I couldn't see the screen because I was on the other side of the table with JJ.

" _Yeah, well, there's a latent fingerprint that's making its second run through AFIS as we speak. As soon as I get results, I'll let you know. And then there's also apparently some crime scene notes that Agent Rossi wrote up that I'm still spelunking for._ "

"So, he was on the actual crime scene with the local detectives?" Emily asked.

"Could be why it bothers him so much," JJ suggested.

"Well, I highly doubt this was his first scene," Morgan said.

"Yeah, but it was a bad one," I came to JJ's defense, looking up from the bloody photos in my hands. "The weapon was a long-handled ax."

"Yeah, but we've seen worse since he was back," JJ pointed out.

"There's nothing else cross-referenced? No other crimes tied to this?" Emily asked Garcia.

" _No, nothing I can find. I mean, certainly nothing with these signature elements_."

"Okay, so it's a double-homicide, yes," JJ said. "But a single occurrence with no apparent issue of state lines? Was there a request from the local authorities for the FBI's help?"

" _I don't think so_."

"So then why is this a BAU case?" I asked.

" _I don't think it was._ "

"All right, Garcia, I want you to double-check any other unsolved murders in Indiana or the surrounding states near this time," Morgan said. "Something this brutal doesn't seem like a one-time thing."

" _You've got it_ ," Garcia signed off.

Emily looked over at me. "What is it? What is it about this case for him?"

* * *

Garcia let us know that Rossi was staying in the Palmer Hotel. She also said that he was less than thrilled to find out we were coming to help him. I almost felt bad that we'd cajoled her into giving us all of those details, but I'm sure Garcia would agree that her feelings could be sacrificed for the length of an angry phone call if it meant putting a killer behind bars.

We headed for the Palmer and marveled at its beauty. I felt under-dressed in just my blouse and jeans, so I hid behind Morgan and let JJ and Emily, both in pantsuits, enter the hotel first. We were about to ask the front desk if Rossi was in. I glanced at the bar inside the lobby. I could faintly see a man with a dark goatee inside.

"Wait, guys. I think I found him," I touched Morgan's shoulder to stop him and cocked my head at the door. I stepped closer for further inspection.

Sure enough, there Rossi was, nursing a glass of scotch by himself, a dejected look on his face.

"You're buyin', I'm drinkin'," Emily joked, leading the way over to him.

"I don't think any of us could afford this place otherwise," Morgan looked around.

"Yeah, I know I can't," JJ said with a wide-eyed expression.

"Go home," Rossi said, not even looking at us as we crowded behind him.

"We thought you might need some help," Emily said.

"You're wrong."

"Come on, now, Rossi," Morgan goaded.

"Bounce some theories off us. Fresh eyes can't hurt," I added.

The older agent shook his head. "This isn't even a BAU case."

"Maybe not yet, but I can make anything a BAU case if I want to," JJ told him, finally coaxing him to look at one of us. "It's about paperwork and I know the paperwork."

Rossi swiveled in his stool and took a gander at us. "Why do you care?"

"Because you do," I shrugged.

He shifted his gaze to me. I could see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. I smiled at him. He sighed and reached back to pick up his glass. Rossi stood, gesturing for us to follow him to a circular table made for groups like ours. He ordered a round of drinks for us before sharing his story.

"I was here on a serial rapist in '88. It was pretty short work. The guy wasn't gonna win any IQ contests. The day after we, uh, collared him, a local detective was driving me to the airport and, uh, hears a call on his walkie of kids…screaming in a house not far from where we were," Rossi looked down for a moment. "He asks if I mind taking the job in with him. We were first on the scene. Inside we found…"

"Found this," Morgan put the Galen family case file on the table before Rossi, who was silently tapping his fingertips together.

"The ax had been left behind, but it had been wiped clean," he continued. "It turns out it belonged to the family. The, uh, oldest daughter, Connie, told me her father bought it on Christmas Eve a few months earlier…to cut down the Christmas tree." Rossi sighed and glanced at me across the table from him. "Now I, uh, always associate the whole thing with Christmas. Never been able to put a…tree up myself again," he took a drink.

"So, he-he never hurt the kids at all?" JJ asked.

"Not physically."

"But he would have known the kids were in the house," I slung one of my legs over the other.

"He only hurt the parents and then left," Rossi eyed me.

"Okay, so, using a weapon he found at the scene and _not_ eliminating all of the potential witnesses, that makes him disorganized," Emily said.

"But he left no evidence, which suggests he's organized," Morgan pointed out.

"There was a fingerprint," JJ said.

"But it was behind the bedroom door. I don't even think he-he knew it was there. There-there should have been prints in other places, but-but they were wiped clean. An-an open back door, a-a drinking glass left in the kitchen," Rossi stuttered. "And that one good print…was not a match anywhere." He sighed. "I've been over this a million times. I-I keep thinking, if there was just one more piece, one more thing to go on—the answer was right in front of me."

"He might be dead," I suggested.

"I have to be sure," he said softly, staring at me.

"Rossi, if he's dead, you may never really know," Morgan told him.

The older agent grabbed the golden charm bracelet sitting on the table in front of it. "When we arrived on the scene…before any of the other units got there…I could hear them…before I even got out of the car. It was a warm morning and the, uh, the windows were open in the upstairs bedroom…and their voices…floated out into the street."

I pursed my lips, feeling my gut wrench. Cases involving children were hard for just about everyone. I always ended up thinking about my nieces and nephews, whom I never saw enough in my personal time, but loved unconditionally.

"They were crying," Rossi continued, "and calling for their mommy and daddy. Three terrified children screaming for their murdered parents." He looked down and shook his head before raising his eyes to me. "I've seen so much death and pain. But _that_ sound… It's been twenty years…and I can still hear them screaming every night…crying."

I wanted to put my arms around him, to make an effort to comfort him the way he'd done for me in Chula Vista. It was tough seeing him look so broken.

"If I can't tell them for sure that whoever's responsible will never do it again, that screaming might never stop," Rossi said. He shifted his eyes to each of us individually, but we were all at a loss for words.

* * *

"Right here," Rossi said, pointing at the house down the street.

There was a Jeep idling in the middle of the road, but it drove off just as Morgan slowed down. We slid out of the Suburban and saw a young woman with blonde, curly hair on the porch. She didn't look happy as she stepped towards us.

"Hi, Connie. I brought the team—"

"You need to stop this!" she interrupted sharply. A man came out onto the porch behind her. I assumed it was the brother, Georgie.

"Excuse me?" Rossi furrowed his brow.

"We thought that if we didn't call you back the last couple times, you would just give up and leave us alone," Connie snapped, her sister Alicia coming outside too.

"Well, I know that it hurts, but I'm only trying to make sure someone pays for your parents' deaths."

"We don't care anymore! It's been twenty years! We need to be able to move past it!" Connie seemed to be near tears. " _Please_!"

Rossi was taken aback. "I won't bother you kids again."

We all turned to reenter the Suburban. I had my hand curled under the doorknob when Connie spoke again.

"And you'll stop it with the gifts too?"

Rossi stopped in his tracks. "Gifts?"

"What are we supposed to do with a bunch of toys that remind us of the worst day of our lives?" she asked.

"I never sent you any gifts," Rossi told her.

Connie gulped, turning to her siblings. And I removed my hand from the car door.

* * *

"This is it?" Rossi asked, staring at the pile of toys that the Galens compiled for us on the living room floor.

"It's all we could find," Georgie said.

"We threw a lot of them away," Alicia added.

"I wish you would have told me about this," Rossi said.

"We thought _you_ were sending them," Connie pointed out. "First we kinda liked it. Then it just became a bad reminder."

Emily was picking up the stuffed animals so JJ could take pictures of them with her cell phone.

"These are incredibly cheap, aren't they?" Emily mused.

"Where would you even buy toys like this?" I asked.

"Or why?" JJ added.

"How did you receive them?" Rossi asked.

"They were usually left on the front porch at night," Connie answered. "Mine was found in my car this time."

"So he's following you."

"There was a pickup outside the—uh, where I work," she looked away, clearly embarrassed of her job. "I just…" she eyed Rossi. "I always thought it was you."

"What do you remember about the pickup?" he asked.

"Uh, all I saw was the shape and the headlights."

"Morgan, obsessional crimes are your specialty," Rossi looked at the agent in question.

"Well, there's two kinds of obsessional offenders that would send gifts to survivors," Morgan explained. "Sadists, who want to make the families keep reliving the crime. Or guilt-laden offenders, desperately trying to find some type of way to apologize."

"Sadists usually use something they know will remind the family of the person or the crime," I rubbed the spot below my lip. "Jewelry, newspaper clippings."

"These don't look like the kinda things you would send to inflict pain on someone," Emily caught my eye from under her bangs.

"So, guilt-laden," I nodded, looking at Rossi. I just wanted him to get all of the answers he needed.

"You know, they actually look like the kind of thing a _child_ would send," Emily added.

"Okay. Well, it's rare, but an unsub who feels this much guilt sometimes commits the crime unintentionally. They tend to be developmentally disabled, extremely low IQ offenders, and generally, well, they're physically large and they're very strong. Strong enough to hurt somebody accidentally," Morgan told us.

"Like Lennie in _Of Mice and Men_ ," Emily said.

"Exactly."

"He needed help, then," Rossi said. "There wasn't a fragment of evidence left at the scene. That's not low IQ."

"Well, usually they're assisted by an older relative, and it's almost always a parent. And this parent rationalizes that the unsub would never try to hurt anybody," Morgan said. "See, in a lot of ways, this type of unsub, they're sort of…overgrown children.

"JJ, when you get Garcia on the phone, tell her we're not looking for other homicides here. Get her to look into a string of less serious offenses in this area—parks, playgrounds—involving children, but not necessarily children that have been injured or abused," he continued.

"Okay," JJ said quietly, stepping out of the room.

Morgan sighed. "See, an unsub like this, when they seek out children, they wanna play with them. They don't really wanna hurt them, but it's their size. It frightens people."

"This could be that piece you were looking for," I looked over my shoulder and Rossi next to me.

Moments later, JJ came into the room with her phone on speaker.

" _Okay, crime fighters, I got the information you were looking for, but it may lead to more questions than answers_ ," Garcia said.

"Oh, of course," Emily deadpanned.

" _There are scads of open petty crimes, as described, in the very area of Indiana in the last twenty years, but here's the rub—a large portion of them only occurred in the last week of March and the first year of April every year. And_ then _it gets weirder. 'Cause the same kind of crimes crop up in Springfield, Illinois for the next two weeks, and then Des Moines, Iowa in the couple of weeks after that_."

"So he's traveling," Morgan said as Rossi stepped around him to look at the pile of toys on the floor.

"On a specific schedule for years?" JJ cocked her head.

"Maybe he's a salesman?" I shrugged.

"Who takes a developmentally disabled partner on a sales call?" Morgan glanced at me.

"Right, good point," I murmured.

"What about a carnival?" Rossi suggested.

"Carnival?" Alicia echoed.

"We went to a carnival the day before," Connie said. "It's the last thing we did as a family."

"Did anything happen?" Emily asked.

"No," Georgie shrugged, making a face.

"No, we had to leave early," Connie said. "There was this clown that…made me a balloon animal. It didn't even look right. But then he kind of followed me around. He didn't really do anything, but my mom got afraid so we left."

"You never told us that," Georgie said in an accusatory tone.

"I didn't even remember it until now…"

"Penelope, pull permits. Find out if this carnival is still in business," Rossi said to the phone.

" _The steady is ready_."

* * *

We pulled up behind the carnival, stepping out of the Suburban to see the crew packing it up.

"You guys, look around. McCarthy, come with me," Rossi ordered.

"Favorite," Morgan murmured in my ear.

I felt a small smile tug at the corner of my lips. _Unattainable crush, Hunter Lynn. Unattainable crush_ , I reminded myself as we split up. I followed said unattainable crush towards an older man who was lugging around crates of bottles to the back of a pickup truck, barking out to his workers.

"Jeff! Get more tie-downs over that Ferris hauler! I don't wanna have to slow down halfway across Illinois because that _moron_ left pieces hangin' off again!" he yelled. "Idiots," he hissed under his breath as an afterthought.

"You look like you're in charge," Rossi said.

He turned around to us. I had a feeling he wasn't going to be very accommodating.

"You pulling out in a hurry?" I asked.

"That's the way this business works," he turned back to his bottles and kept loading the truck. "Gotta be set up where the money is. Right now, that ain't here."

"Where are you headed to next, Springfield?" Rossi asked, the man freezing for a moment. "We'd like to talk to you about one of your clowns."

"…Clown?" the man asked in a friendlier tone, struggling to think of a response. He glanced over his shoulder. "This ain't a circus. Clowns are for the circus."

"You don't have _any_ clowns at your carnival?" I cocked a brow. He was clearly covering something up.

"How about a guy who makes balloon animals?" Rossi asked.

"Uh… _might_ ," the man answered.

"Might?" Rossi repeated.

"At times."

"How long's he been with you?" I asked.

"What? What is this?" he turned to glare at me, the friendly tone gone.

"This guy would have been complained about. Kids are uncomfortable around him. You'd have gotten reports from parents," Rossi said.

"I can't remember every complaint I get, mister."

"It's not mister. It's Agent Rossi, FBI," he held up his credentials. The man looked worried. "Now, do you have a son?"

"…A son?"

"The guy we wanna talk to, he'd have been a big problem for you. You'd have gotten rid of him a long time ago, unless…"

"It would've been difficult for him to hold down a job for long," I said, "much less twenty years."

"Twenty years?" the man whispered before turning away. "I really ain't got time for this."

But Rossi grabbed his arm. " _Make_ time."

"All right," the man sighed, nodding his head. "He didn't mean to hurt those people. It was my fault as much as his. I got busy with one of the rides breaking down and he wandered off. He just wanted to see the little girl again. He liked her. He w-wanted to play. He would never hurt _anyone_. He went into the father's room by mistake. He came after him with an ax and he hit Joey with it, s-so he got mad, that's all. I mean, th-I mean that's understandable. I mean, isn't that understandable—?"

Rossi and I exchanged glances.

"He gets hit with an ax and he gets _mad_? He was sorry as soon as he did it. He even put them back in bed. He just got angry. And I was too late! I was too late! I couldn't save 'em! But every year I take him back and I make him remember what he did. I'd even make him pick something from the joints to give them. He never forgets. Never. I make sure of that. Never!

"Look," the man continued. "He's a good boy…"

"Daddy! Daddy!" someone wailed from further away.

I looked past the man and tried to see where the noise was coming from, to no avail. Rossi, the man, and I ran towards where it was coming from.

"Get your ass outta there right now!" Morgan ordered as we got closer. He, Prentiss, and JJ apprehending someone who was hiding under a covered food booth.

"Daddy! Daddy-y!"

Morgan holstered his gun. "Let's go. Let's _go_ ," he said as he pulled a large, crying man out from under the tarp. "Get down! Stay down!"

"Daddy! Daddy!"

From what I could see, the son, Joey, had faded paint on his face to look like a clown.

"Help me, Daddy! Help me!"

Rossi and I stopped short of the scene, holding the father back. He fell to his knees.

"Don't fight, Joe!" he yelled as Emily and Morgan got ready to cuff his son.

"Stay down! I need some help, I need some help," Morgan ordered, crouching by the screaming man-child.

"Don't you hurt him! He won't fight you!" the father shouted, struggling against our grip on his shoulders.

"Help me!" Joey sobbed.

"What'd I say? Stop it! Stop it!" Morgan yelled at him.

I felt a lump in my throat when I saw the top of Joey's head. There was a large red scar hiding on his scalp below his brown hair, surely from the ax. I looked at Rossi, who had also noticed it. As upsetting as this scene was, I knew he'd be at peace.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"He's a good boy," the father said tearfully. "He's a really good boy."

"Daddy, help me!"

"Don't fight, Joe."

"Daddy!"

* * *

 _Rossi took a seat across from McCarthy at the table on the jet. She was hard at work, constructing a house of cards. He smiled at the way the tip of her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her lips._

 _"If we get a single bump of turbulence…" she growled under her breath, acknowledging him without looking up. Her house was almost finished, which seemed to be a rare occurrence._

 _Rossi shook his head, his smile widening. He made sure not to put his book on the tabletop, instead holding it up in his hands to read for now. Just as McCarthy had wanted to help him get answers, he wanted to help her complete her project._

 _Unfortunately, he was too late to prevent Morgan from leaning over and hissing in McCarthy's ear._

 _"Boo!"_

 _"Jesus H. Christ!" McCarthy jumped, knocking down the cards. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped once she saw what he'd made her do. She slowly twisted her head over her shoulder to look at the cackling agent. "You. Fucking._ Asshole _."_

 _Rossi pursed his lips, trying not to antagonize her more by chuckling at the incident. He wasn't tickled by the destruction of the house, but by her reaction to it._

 _"Beyond uncool, Derek," McCarthy woefully gathered her cards from the table._

 _"Come on, Mick, that was good," Morgan leaned over the chair beside her._

 _If looks could kill, he would've been flat on his back in the morgue, Rossi surmised. McCarthy had delivered one of the greatest side-eye glares to Morgan as she put the cards back into their box. She folded her arms across her chest, leaning back in her seat._

 _"Is he harassing you again, Hunter?" Prentiss smirked, coming over to the table with a cup of tea in her hand._

 _"He's always harassing me," McCarthy frowned._

 _"It's not harassment if you like it," Morgan winked, tousling McCarthy's hair before swaggering off._

 _"Urgh," McCarthy wagged a fist in the air at his retreating figure, using her other hand to smooth out the top of her head._

 _Prentiss slid in beside Rossi and gave McCarthy a look. "So, Ms. Hunter, when's the big weekend?"_

 _McCarthy sighed, glancing at Rossi when she didn't think he noticed. "A few weeks."_

 _"You excited?"_

 _"I dunno. Not really."_

 _"Why not?" Prentiss asked._

 _"It just…" McCarthy sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know. It's not that I don't want him to come. It's the date part that I'm conflicted about. I like Owen, but I don't think we're, like,_ meant to be _," she wiggled her fingers on those last three words._

 _"So what? You're just doing it to have fun, right?"_

 _"I guess," McCarthy glanced down at her fingernails. "I mean, he's already bought the plane tickets, so I'm not going to tell him not to come…"_

 _"What do you think, Rossi?" Emily nudged the older agent. McCarthy opened her mouth to protest, but couldn't get a word out. "Doesn't Hunter deserve to have a little fun?"_

 _Rossi looked up from his book, pretending that he wasn't listening in on the conversation. "What's going on?"_

 _"I, uh," McCarthy sighed, looking away from him. "I have a friend flying over."_

 _"And he's insisting on taking her out on a_ real _date," Prentiss added with a cheeky grin._

 _"Is this Detective Kim?" JJ leaned over from her spot on the couch._

 _"From LA?" Morgan looked up from his seat._

 _"And now it's everyone's business," McCarthy muttered, her face red._

 _Rossi took a deep breath and stared at her. "I think you should do whatever makes you happy."_

 _She looked into his dark eyes, trying to get a read on him. He wondered if she could tell how heavy his chest was feeling at that moment, much to his surprise. But instead of letting anything on, she just nodded and looked out of the window._

* * *

"Pretty boy, how was Connecticut?" Morgan asked Reid as we entered the bullpen with our go-bags.

"Ultimately uneventful," the doctor said from his desk chair. Then he looked at Rossi. "Sir, there's, uh, somebody waiting to speak to you in your office."

I looked up and saw Kevin Lynch rising from his seat in Rossi's office to come up to the doorway. JJ had a knowing smile on her face.

"Agent Rossi," Kevin said in a slightly nervous voice. He cleared his throat. "We need to talk…about, uh, Penelope…man to man."

I bit one of my knuckles to keep from beaming at the implication. I bet that Rossi had walked in on something he wasn't meant to see when he'd gone to visit Garcia the night he fled to Indiana.

"Man to man," Rossi echoed before heading up the stairs.

"What about Penelope?" Morgan asked protectively.

"I don't know," Reid said.

" _Garcia and Kevin, sittin' in a tree_ ," JJ sang, turning on her heel.

"Get outta here. You serious?" Morgan stared as Kevin and Rossi went into the office. He stepped away too, probably to go confront Garcia.

"I knew it was only a matter of time," I grinned.

"Oh, just when I thought _nothing_ scandalous was ever gonna happen around here," Emily laughed, shouldering me beside her.

"What? What does that mean?" Reid asked.

"Didn't you hear JJ?" Emily furrowed her brow, pointing in the direction that the blonde had retreated.

"The-the song _meant_ something? No! No, I missed it."

"It-it-it…"

"Good luck with that one, Em," I winked, sitting down at my desk to get cracking on a report.

"You know what, never mind," she followed suit.

"What?" Reid asked.

I snickered, watching as the genius tried to figure it out. But there were some things that even Dr. Spencer Reid wouldn't understand.


	10. The Other Agent McCarthy

**"Hello?" I breathed** reluctantly into the receiver of my cell phone. I hadn't wanted to answer the call.

" _Huntah? Is this a bad time, honey?_ " Marcia's voice wavered on the other side.

"No," I gulped, hoping her news wasn't what I thought it was going to be. "No, I'm just doing a report. Is everything okay?"

" _Ted, um… It was his time…_ "

I sighed, rubbing at my temple. "I'm so sorry, Marcia."

" _He went in his sleep. We had the kids come ovah and say their goodbyes this week. I, um, I hope you don't mind, but I spoke for you._ "

"No, of course I don't mind. Thank you," I said, noticing Morgan looking over at me from his desk. "When is the service?"

" _Day after tomorrow. Saturday. I've already talked to your parents about when and where. Will you be able to make it? I know you're awful busy._ "

"I'll be there," I assured her.

" _That's good to hear, honey. That's real good to hear. Ted would like that._ "

I smiled. "I'll see you in a couple days, then."

" _I'll see you, dahlin'._ "

I hung up and felt a lump form in my throat. Emily, Morgan, and Reid had all been listening. I took a deep breath.

"Everything okay?" Reid asked.

"Yeah," I nodded. "A family friend just passed away."

"I'm sorry," Emily frowned empathetically.

"My condolences to the family," Morgan bowed his head.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call," Emily said.

"Thank you," I attempted a smile.

"You going back to Boston, then?" Morgan asked.

"As soon as possible," I gulped, looking up plane tickets on my computer. Once I'd booked a flight, I stood from my desk, feeling Emily's mournful eyes on my back as I walked up the stairs to approach Hotch's office. I took another deep breath before knocking on the door.

"Come in," Hotch called.

I opened the door and saw him looking at a case file. "Hi, sorry to bother you. Um, I need to request some time off."

"Starting when?" he asked, not looking up.

"My flight leaves in four hours."

His eyes finally raised up from below his dark brows.

"I'm so sorry for the last minute notice, but Ted Holmsby just died," I added quickly. Hotch's face softened ever-so slightly. "I told Marcia that I'd be there for the funeral. I'll only be gone for a couple days, I promise."

"Stay as long as you need to," Hotch said quietly.

"Thank you," I whispered, feeling a tear brim in my eye. I wasn't sure if it was because of Ted's death or because of how touchingly nice Hotch was being. It was probably both, to be honest.

I stepped out of the office and looked down towards Rossi's, but the door was closed. I suddenly felt compelled to tell him I was leaving and why. I slowly walked along the hallway, glancing through the window shades as I went by. He was talking on his phone to someone who was making him smile. I felt a twinge of jealously in my stomach, even though he was probably just talking to an old buddy or something. I gulped and walked down the stairs.

* * *

I pulled into the driveway of my parents' house in Lexington that night. Getting out of my rental car, I took my go-bag and rang the doorbell. They'd tried to call me when I was on the plane, leaving me a message to find out when to pick me up from the airport. But instead of calling them back, I'd decided to surprise them.

The front door opened and I saw my mother. Her green eyes were wide, her gray hair tied in a braid over her shoulder. I hoped that I'd be as beautiful as her when I was sixty.

"Hunter," she breathed, pulling me into her arms. "We were afraid we wouldn't be able to get a hold of you."

"Sorry, I didn't want to inconvenience you," I told her.

"Andrew!" my mother called over her shoulder once she let me go. She held the door open and let me in. "Look who's here!"

"Do my eyes deceive me?" grinned my tall father as he poked his head out of the kitchen.

"Hi, Dad," I put my bag down and headed towards him.

"Do they feed you people down in Quantico?" he asked while he enveloped me in his arms. I rested my head against his chest. "She's skin and bones, isn't she, Liz?"

"We can solve that problem," Mom folded her arms across her chest. "Have you eaten yet? Your father was just about to whip up some chicken parmesan."

"I'd love some," I smiled, my arms still around my father.

"Why don't we go put your stuff up in your room? I'll get you some new sheets and we can make your bed while we wait, okay?" Mom grabbed my go-bag.

I squeezed Dad one more time and followed her up the stairs. I took in all of the details of my childhood home as I walked through the house. It was just as it had been the last time I'd come to Lexington. Of course, that was Christmastime, and it was only early April now.

"Got any big plans for your birthday coming up?" Mom asked, opening the door to my old bedroom, turning the light on.

"Um…" I looked up at the ceiling, trying to think about what I was doing. Then I realized that my twenty-ninth birthday was shortly before Owen Kim's visit. "No, nothing really. I'll probably just get dinner with the girls on the team."

"What about the hunky one?" Mom winked.

"Who, Morgan?" I furrowed my brow. "Sure, if he wants to come along. We're friends."

" _Just_ friends?"

"Oh my God, Mom, stop," I snickered as we set about stripping the queen-sized bed. "Even if inter-unit fraternization were allowed—"

I had turned around and saw something that made me sweat like a pregnant nun. There, displayed on my bedside table, was the framed picture of an early forties David Rossi I'd had in my college dorm.

"Oh, I found that in your closet when I was cleaning a few weeks ago," Mom elbowed me as she came up beside me. "He's quite a looker, isn't he?"

My mouth went dry.

"He was one of your 'boyfriends', wasn't he?"

"What?" I chirped.

"You know, one of those famous people you used to pretend you weren't in love with?" she smirked.

 _You have no idea, Mom,_ I thought.

"He was the FBI agent you looked up to, right?"

"Um, yeah, he was," I said nervously. "D-Did I tell you that he actually came back to the Bureau?"

"No, you didn't. You never call me enough. You know I worry about you, Hunter."

"Sorry," I said sheepishly.

"So, he's back? You ever see him around the office?"

"He's on my team."

"So, _that's_ why you haven't gone after the hunky one. I see," Mom winked again. She clapped my shoulder and started to walk away. "I'll go get you some new sheets."

As soon as she left, I found another framed picture, only this one was hung on the wall. There were two girls: One with long blonde curls, the other with brown hair. They had their arms around each other and they were frozen in the midst of a shared laugh. Three months later, one of those girls would be murdered. Thirteen years later, one of them would never be able to forget it.

* * *

"So, how's Jamie doing?" I asked, sipping from the glass of wine my father had poured for me.

"He's good. He's only got one more year at Tufts," Mom nodded, leaning back from her almost empty plate. "I think he's got a secret girlfriend he won't tell us about. He came over a few weeks ago and kept getting up to call someone."

"As if he doesn't know you have the nosiest mother in the Boston area," Dad bounced his eyebrows.

"I'm allowed to know the goings-on of my children, especially when they occur in my house," Mom threw a hand up in the air.

I chuckled, crossing my legs. "And Mike's restaurant is doing well?"

"Flourishing," Mom said.

"Rick hasn't killed any students yet?"

"Only because he knows you would catch him in a heartbeat."

"And Eddie?"

"Did you hear about, uh, Bridget?" Dad said quietly, as if my oldest brother were eavesdropping from the other room.

"No, what happened?" I asked. Bridget was my sister-in-law. I liked her a lot, but I had a sinking feeling she did something that I wouldn't be able to forgive.

"She had an affair. They're trying to work it out, but I don't think it's going to end well," Mom hummed.

"Why am I always the last to find out about these things?" I furrowed my brow.

"You're so far away, honey," Mom covered my hand on the table. "And you're so busy. It's hard to tie you down."

"Eddie's coming tomorrow anyway, so maybe you'll be able to talk to him then," Dad added. "He'll probably give you more details than us."

"He's coming?" I raised my brow.

"All of your brothers are coming to pay their respects to Ted," Mom said, her eyes glassy. My heart felt warm at that.

"You and Eddie are staying over since you're the only ones who left the state," Dad explained.

"We all owe Ted and Marcia so much," Mom shook her head, squeezing my hand.

"I know," I nodded. My chest felt heavy. A tear brimmed in my eye. I glanced over at my father, who was smiling at me.

"We're so glad you're here, Hunter," he said.

I could sense that phrase had two meanings: Glad I was here at their house, but also glad I was still alive. And that was all thanks to the Holmsbys.

* * *

A lot of people turned up at Ted's funeral. Family members, friends, Ted and Marcia's long-lost acquaintances from school. Their children, all around my brother Eddie's age, were given roses by their mother. Marcia was fumbling around the cemetery, wringing her weathered hands together, another rose tucked under her arm. She seemed to be looking around for something before the service started, tears in her eyes.

"Where's Jamie?" Mom asked, distracting me.

I turned around, staring at the wall of suited McCarthy men behind us. Eddie, Rick, and Mike were all as tall as my father, whereas Jamie and I were shorter, like my mother.

"Mike, where's your brother?" Mom snapped her head towards my thirty-one year-old brother.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Mike held his arms in a W-shape. His long, sleek brown hair was tied back behind his head.

"Does anyone know?" Mom muttered. "He said he was going to be here."

"He's probably busy with school," I told her, grabbing her hand.

"Huntah, theyah you ah."

I looked around and saw Marcia hurrying over to me. I held my arms open, hugging her when she got close enough.

"I was lookin'… I was afraid you weren't…"

"I told you I'd be here," I reminded her as she wiped away a tear.

"You look so beautiful," she eyed the black, lacy, long-sleeved cocktail dress I'd donned that morning. "And your hair. So beautiful." She reached up and tenderly stroked the waves I'd worked hard to create that morning.

"How are you doing, Marcia?" I asked softly.

"I'm good, honey. This is a good turn-out," she said quickly, glancing at my three older brothers. "It's what he wanted. The sun is shining, weathah's good…and _you're_ he-ah." Marcia gulped and took the rose from under her arm. "For you."

I took the de-thorned flower, feeling the tears prick at my eye. "Thank you."

"He always thought a' you as one a' his daughtahs. We both did," she mumbled.

"Thank you," I repeated, unsure of what else to say.

"Thank you all for coming, McCahthys," Marcia nodded at my family.

She started talking to my mother, but I chose not to eavesdrop. I felt a big hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw that it belonged to Eddie, my thirty-nine year-old brother. His flight from Maine had been delayed, so he didn't get in until late the night before. I didn't get to say much other than, "Hello," before he went straight to bed. He had looked tired. Tired and sad.

I stepped back so I could be between him and Rick. I put my arms around their waists. Rick, who was thirty-five, tugged on a strand of my hair. Of all my brothers, he was the one I was the least close with growing up, even though Eddie was almost exactly ten years older than me. As we matured, though, Rick and I started talking more. And when he got married and had kids, he opened up to me completely.

By the time the service began, Jamie was still MIA. I gulped, hoping he would show up. Being the two youngest, Jamie and I spent a lot of time together growing up. He was four years younger than me, but we were very close. I wanted to see him.

Watching Ted and Marcia's two daughters and one son speak about their father was absolutely heartbreaking. My mother had handed me a packet of tissues, and believe me, I needed it once Marcia stood up to talk.

"He was so proud a' our kids. The happiest fathah you evah did see," she'd said, glancing back at me.

I started bawling, holding the rose she'd given to me close to my chest. I felt someone pull me into their arms. He felt too short to be any of my older brothers or my father. I turned my head and saw Jamie cradling me to his body.

He held me in his arms until it was time for me to put my rose on the coffin. Most of the guests stared at me, wondering who I was and why I had been given the flower. But I ignored them, murmuring both a thank-you and a goodbye to Ted.

* * *

"What do you want? I'm buying?"

"Eddie, no."

"I'll have a large, hot coffee, black. My little sister will have a—"

"Come on, Eddie."

"—medium, iced coffee, with a bunch of cream and sugar. That right?" he smirked down at me.

"Yeah," I sighed. I dug through my wallet as Eddie paid the cashier at the small café in Boston. I handed him some bills, but he wouldn't take them.

"I'm allergic to your Virginia money," he said. "Go find us a table."

I sighed, tucking the money back in my clutch wallet before taking a seat at a small table for two. The café was no Dunkin' Donuts, but for once I felt overdressed. Eddie and I were still clad in our funeral garb. After the service, Jamie had to run back to school, Rick had to go home because one of his kids was running a fever, and Mike had to leave for some undisclosed reason. My mother protested when Eddie asked me to get coffee with him, just the two of us, but my father reminded her that we'd be back home for dinner, and the McCarthy clan split up.

"Here you go," Eddie sat across from me, handing me my iced coffee.

"Thanks, Edwin," I smirked.

He shook his head. He always acted like he hated it when I called him that, but I knew he loved it. "How's the, uh, Federal Bureau of Investigation?"

"I'd tell you, but it's classified," I winked. "How's the Pine Tree State?"

"Muddy," he bounced his eyebrows.

"And the kids?"

"They're adolescents. How do you think they are?"

"…And Bridget?"

Eddie sighed. I could see the wrinkles on his face. They looked more defined than they did at Christmas. "How much do you know?"

"I just heard that she cheated. Mom said you guys were trying to work it out…" I trailed off. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"It's fine," he shrugged, but his demeanor told me he was feeling otherwise. "He was a co-worker. She said it only happened for a month, but I don't know just how true that is. We've been separated since she came clean. I'm filing for divorce as soon as I get back home."

"How much do Kristen and Jake know?" I sipped on my coffee.

"They just think _I'm_ an asshole. But as much as I fucking hate Bridget right now, she's their mother. Even though she didn't love _me_ enough to stay faithful, she loves those kids more than anything in the world. I won't turn them against her."

"You're an all right guy, Eddie Mac," I raised my cup to him in salute.

He bounced his eyebrows again. "So, can you tell me anything about the last case you went on, or is that _classified_?"

"Oh, just your run-of-the-mill angel of death, prowling support groups and forcing people to commit suicide. You know, the usual," I said as the bell at the front door jingled. I didn't mind changing the subject at all. I could tell the situation between Eddie and his wife was wearing down on him.

"Your life must be so boring," Eddie grinned.

"McCarthy?"

We both turned towards the voice. My face heated up when I saw who was coming towards our table.

"Hi, Rossi," I gave him an awkward wave, not unlike the one I gave him when I'd officially met him several months ago.

"You know her, Dave?" asked the beautiful woman behind him. I hadn't noticed her at first. She was around his age with long, caramel-colored hair. I started to feel my heart sink.

"Oh, yes, Carolyn, this is one of my teammates, Hunter McCarthy. Hunter, this is Carolyn—"

"The friendly ex-wife," she smiled down at me. I appreciated that she was unperturbed by my name.

"Number one," Rossi sighed. His eyes traveled to my table mate. I thought I might have seen his Adam's apple bob in his throat.

"Nice to meet you," I said, feeling relieved for God knows what reason. "Um, Rossi, this is my brother, Ed—"

"The _other_ Agent McCarthy," Eddie smirked, reaching up to shake Rossi's hand. I rolled my eyes. He loved using that line whenever he met one of my teammates.

"Eddie the realtor, right?" Rossi smiled. "I've heard about you."

"Horrible things, I'm sure," Eddie glanced at me. "Are you _the_ David Rossi I've been subjected to hearing about all my life?"

My eyes widened and I rubbed at my neck. I could feel Rossi's looking at me, but I refused to look back at him.

"I must be," he said with a chuckle.

"It's nice to put a body to the book jacket covers," Eddie kicked me under the table.

"What brings you guys to Boston?" I asked, finally looking up.

"Oh, we catch up with each other every few years," Carolyn told me. "I live in San Francisco, but my heart remains on the East Coast. Dave agreed to come up and say hi."

"I, uh, suppose your trip hasn't exactly been for pleasure," Rossi said, gesturing to my black dress.

"Oh, Hotch didn't tell you?" I asked.

"He just said you went home. I didn't want to pry."

"Um, Ted died," I gulped.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Carolyn frowned.

"Sorry to hear that," Rossi reached down briefly and squeezed my shoulder.

"Thanks," I nodded at them. "I hope you guys are having a good weekend."

"So far so good," Carolyn smiled, then looked back at her ex-husband. "But I think we need some caffeine."

"Don't let us stop you," Eddie flashed his pearly whites.

"It was very nice to meet you two. Have a good one," Carolyn stepped over towards the counter, but Rossi lingered.

"I'll see you later," he squeezed my shoulder one more time, then extended his hand to Eddie. "Good to meet you, Agent."

"Take care," Eddie beamed. His eyes followed Rossi's retreating figure. "He's now become my favorite of your co-workers."

"I've never seen anyone acknowledge that stupid joke before. You look so happy," I chuckled.

"I resent that statement. That joke is gold and you know it," Eddie narrowed his eyes at me. It was remarkable how a decade divided us, but he and I had the same sense of humor.

" _Fool's_ gold," I said under my breath, glancing up at the ceiling.

"So, um, he knows about…Ted?" Eddie took a deep breath.

"Yeah," I sighed. "We had a case that kinda…reminded me a lot of that…incident. I had a minor meltdown and he sought me out and…listened."

"Do you think he thought I was your boyfriend?" Eddie asked.

"Huh?"

"Rossi, just now. He was kinda giving me a weird look until you said I was your brother. I think he thought we were on a date."

I grimaced. "Ew."

"He looked kinda jealous for a second there. Do you guys have a _thing_ going on?" Eddie cocked a brow.

"He's on my team. Even if he _wanted_ to have a thing, we couldn't," I gulped.

"Yeah, I'm sure a guy like _that_ really cares about fraternizing rules."

"Don't even go there, man." _Don't get my hopes up._

"And maybe if you'd stop acting like a twelve year-old schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher around him, he'd ask you out."

"First of all, I don't know what you're talking about. Second: there's no way he's remotely into me," I said.

" _Au contraire_ ," Eddie wagged a finger. It was hard to believe he was pushing forty, the way he acted sometimes. "He was giving you The Look—so much so that I almost had to beat him up, as per my older-brotherly duty."

"I'd pay to see you try and beat someone up," I snorted.

"How old is he?" Eddie asked.

"Almost fifty-three," I said sheepishly.

"Really?" Eddie raised his eyebrows. "Okay."

"You think it's weird."

"No, I get it.

"Don't look now, but he's staring at you," he said quietly.

I started to feel warm and fuzzy inside. I tightened my hold on myself, hoping my face wasn't too red.

"You really like him, don't you?" Eddie scrutinized me.

"I dunno. I really hate _you_ , though, that's for sure," I mumbled, looking away.

"Love you too, baby sister."


	11. Elephant's Memory

**"Officer Letts shot** this just before he was killed," JJ told us, showing a cell phone video of a burning house. She'd called us in after hours to discuss this case.

I felt a small amount of pressure on my chest as I watched the fire blaze. I rubbed at my sternum, feeling the bare skin not covered by my V-neck T-shirt. Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that Rossi was watching me.

"Sorry I'm late," Reid muttered, half-jogging into the round table room.

"I hope she was worth it," Rossi said from his seat beside me.

"I hope it was a she," Morgan added from our small coffee bar.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was at the movies," Reid said, delving into a case file.

He was clearly lying about something. I wondered if he'd been at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting or something. About a year ago, he'd been kidnapped by the delusional Tobias Hankel. Reid had been tortured and almost killed before getting resuscitated by Hankel himself. See, Hankel was dissociating to two different alters—his father, Charles, and Raphael the Archangel—and killing "sinners". Reid had been quietly suffering from addiction, but had since gotten clean.

"Oh, really? Why don't you tell us what it was about?" Rossi asked facetiously.

"Uh, I had to leave early, so I can't really t—" Reid stopped, noticing the look Rossi was giving him. I had to stifle a giggle.

"I know it's late, I know we're tired, but we've got two dead cops," Hotch said, pacing.

"All right, uh, the resident, Rod Norris, was DOA," JJ continued, holding up a picture of Norris. "They're still trying to ID the remains of the second victim, whom they believe is his sixteen year-old daughter, Jordan," she switched the pictures. "From the condition of the remains, she would have had to have been inside the house, close to the source of the blast."

Rossi took the pictures from her.

"Clearly they used the bombing to set the officers up for an ambush," Emily said, cradling her cheek in one hand.

"It's a well-established terrorist tactic," Reid pointed out. "Uh, first wave takes out civilians, the second wave takes out first responders."

"The locals are thinking terrorism in _West Bune, Texas_?" I leaned back in my chair, tugging on one of my French pigtails before Rossi handed the pictures over to me.

"Not exactly a tier-one target," JJ gestured to me, "but DHS _did_ issue a terror alert for the border states yesterday, just due to the timing and nature of the attack."

"I've never _heard_ of this place," Morgan shrugged. I handed him the picture. "I mean, the militia, okay, that I could see."

"Yeah, well, it is close to the border," Emily pointed out. "It could be traffickers sending a message."

"Whoever it is, they gunned down two cops and blew up a teenage girl. Until they're stopped, no one in that town is safe," I said.

"We need to be cautious with the locals. They've lost two of their own, they're anxious, they're scared, and they're gonna want revenge," Hotch told us.

"Can you blame 'em?" Rossi asked.

* * *

 _"No, please, don't."_

 _Derek Morgan opened one eye. He lifted one side of his headphones, pausing his music, and looked across the table from him. He'd been jerked awake from his slumber on the way to West Bune._

 _"Don't hurt her. I'm begging you."_

 _Mick was curled up in the chair, her side against the padded seat and her back to Rossi beside her. From what Morgan could see, her face was contorted in fear. Her arms were wrapped around her knees tightly and she began to rock back and forth ever so slightly._

 _"Hunter?" Prentiss yawned, sitting up from where she was on the couch._

 _"You good, Mick?" Morgan asked, resting his headphones around the base of his neck._

 _"Just take us home. Don't."_

 _"Has she ever talked in her sleep before?" Rossi looked up from his book._

 _"Sometimes," Prentiss shrugged. "But it's usually her ordering coffee or declaring her love for Javier Bardem."_

 _"Or making fun of me," Morgan shook his head._

 _"Please. Stop it. Just let us go," Mick whimpered. "We won't say anything. I promise."_

 _"Is she okay?" Rossi looked over at his teammate. Morgan could tell he was genuinely concerned. Rossi leaned on his side, trying to look at her face._

 _"Sleep talking, or somniloquy, is a fairly common occurrence and rarely linked to any medical conditions," Reid supplied._

 _"Please don't."_

 _"What the hell kind of dream is she having?" Morgan asked._

 _"Actually, somniloquy can happen in any stage of sleeping, not just REM cycle," Reid added. "She might not even be dreaming at all."_

 _"Bobby, please! Just bring us home!" Mick's voice raised a notch. She stopped rocking and buried her head in her elbow. "Stop!"_

 _"We need to wake her up," Rossi said quickly. His eyes were wide, as if he knew something more about what Mick was saying._

 _Morgan extended an arm._

 _"Wait," Prentiss hissed, halting his reach before he could shake her. "I thought you weren't supposed to wake up someone when they're talking or walking in their sleep."_

 _"It's best to do it with a loud noise rather than physical stimulation," Reid said._

 _"Mick!" Derek clapped his hands by her ear. "Come on, girl."_

 _Her curled-up body went rigid. A moment later, she softened and slowly lifted her head. Rubbing at her eyes, she readjusted herself so she was sitting normally. She furrowed her brow and shifted her eyes from one agent to the other._

 _"Oh, no," she moaned, her voice groggy. "I know that look. What was I saying about Morgan this time?"_

 _Morgan and the others exchanged glances. No one knew exactly what to tell her._

 _"That bad, huh?" Mick grinned. "Well, whatever I said, I'm sure I meant it."_

 _"Hunter," Prentiss began gently. "Who's Bobby?"_

 _The smile was immediately wiped off Mick's face. Her normally rosy cheeks lost their color. Morgan watched her chest heave as she took a deep breath._

 _"I don't know," she shook her head, glancing at Rossi. The older agent had a grave look on his face. His dark eyes were trained on her._

 _"Well, whoever he is, you were talking to him," Morgan said._

 _"…Bobby's a pretty generic name. I could have been talking to anyone."_

 _"It was more than that, though. You kept telling him to stop. And you said, 'don't hurt her'," Morgan added. He noticed that despite her efforts not to show it, she got more and more uncomfortable with every word._

 _"I don't know what to tell you," Mick shrugged and turned her beautiful face to the window. "I'm tired as hell."_

 _"You know you can talk to us about anything, Mick."_

 _"Morgan," Rossi cut a finger over his throat. "Let's all try to get some more shut-eye, all right?"_

 _Derek stared back at him, crossing his arms defiantly. He tore his eyes away and looked at Mick. She was chewing on her cheek, as she was prone to do in moments of stress. She then began to crack her knuckles, another tic of hers. She was hiding something. And Rossi knew about it._

 _Morgan sighed, putting his headphones back over his ears. He turned on his music and closed his eyes._

* * *

"Sheriff Hallum?" JJ approached the thin-lipped officer once we got out of our cars.

"Ma'am?" Hallum said. He was standing in the burnt shell of what had once been the Norris household.

"Jennifer Jareau," she shook his hand. "This is the team. Agents Hotchner, Rossi, Dr. Reid, Prentiss, McCarthy, and Morgan. We're really sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. Where do we start?" Hallum drawled.

"First victim, Rod Norris," Hotch said.

"Manager at the chemical plant over at Ibis. No arrests in ten years since his wife left him. I can't blame her for leavin'im, but it's a shame she left Jordan behind."

"What can you tell us about Jordan?" Rossi asked.

"Sweet girl, a bit slow."

"Slow?" Emily piped up. "She was mentally-challenged?"

"Not quite. Special ed and all that stuff. Takes some talking to, uh, notice it. I think her mother leavin' took its toll."

Hotch nodded at JJ.

"Sheriff, I-I'd like to gather your people back at the office so I can brief them all together," she said.

"Sure," he nodded. "But I'm stayin' here."

"Of course. Thank you," she turned away.

Reid, Emily, and Rossi went into the rubble to do some more investigating, while I branched off with Morgan, Hotch, and Hallum. I could feel the former's eyes on me as we headed to where Officers Letts and Savage were gunned down. There were still puddles of thick blood in the dirt, roped off by police tape.

"Hit pattern says they were fired on full auto. Tight grouping for it," Morgan gestured to the ground. "Single burst put them both down. That takes skill."

"And some serious training," I mused, looking through my file. "Letts lands here, still alive. Savage falls there dead."

"But I walk past Letts," Morgan roleplayed, "and I shoot Lou Savage in the face when I know he's already dead."

"This was personal," Hotch surmised.

"They knew each other?" Hallum asked.

"Enough to know Rod Norris would enter through the back door while smoking," Reid said, coming over to us. That must have been what triggered the explosion. Reid crouched by the blood.

"And that Lou Savage was on-duty and would respond," I closed my file and put one hand on my hip.

"So what are we talkin' about here?" Hallum looked at Hotch.

"This wasn't terrorism," he said. "Domestic or otherwise. Terrorists rarely know their victims, at least not personally."

"Because they knew Rod Norris was a smoker who used his back door?" Hallum was skeptical.

"And shot Deputy Savage in the face at pointblank range," Morgan said.

"They weren't bein' thorough?"

"No," I shook my head. "He walked past Letts, who was still alive at the time, and shot Savage in the face when he knew he was already dead."

"Responders were coming. That last shot was risky overkill," Morgan continued.

"Overkill means rage," Reid stood up. "Rage means a close, personal relationship."

"Rod Norris and Lou Savage were the specific targets if this attack," Hotch told the sheriff.

"Can you think of anyone with a close, personal connection to Norris and Savage?" I asked.

"I didn't think about it…because of the terror alert," Hallum said.

"Think about what?" Hotch asked.

"Owen. Owen Savage. Lou's son was dating Jordan Norris."

* * *

"My deputies didn't find Owen at home," Hallum said, leading Hotch, Morgan, Reid, and myself into the Savage household. We started to look around.

"How long did you know Lou Savage?" Hotch asked.

"My whole life," Hallum said. There was sorrow on his weathered face.

"And Deputy Savage's wife?"

"Hope?"

"How did she die?"

"Drunk driver in '02. Lou was in Afghanistan. Owen lived with us until he got back."

"Semper fi," Reid murmured, stepping away from the picture of Savage on the wall.

"How long was Lou Savage in the Marines?" Morgan asked.

"Twelve years. He was discharged so he could raise Owen," Hallum said.

I looked over from my spot by the refrigerator.

"Is that why he resented them?" Reid asked.

"Pardon me?" Hallum furrowed his brow from under his cowboy hat.

"Uh, did Lou blame his wife and son for ending his career in the Marines?"

"Lou was a good man."

"A good man that doesn't have a single photo of his dead wife or only son anywhere in his entire house?"

I gulped. Reid was irritated.

"I know this is hard, and if we had more time we would be more sensitive, but we don't," Hotch said gently. I could almost sense a little reluctance in the way he defended Reid.

Hallum sighed. " _Hope_ was the drunk driver. I didn't write it up that way, but…it didn't matter. Her drinkin' was no secret in town."

"Where's Owen's room?" I asked.

"Right over there," he pointed me towards the hallway.

"Thank you," I nodded, walking off into the house. Reid followed me. "You okay?" I asked him quietly. "You're acting kind of weird."

"Says the one yelling in her sleep," Reid commented.

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. Reid was usually such a sweetheart, but on the rare occasion he snapped back, it hurt. "Fair enough," I sighed, entering the dark bedroom.

Owen's room might as well have been a shrine to misunderstood rebels of the older days. He had a few posters of Johnny Cash on his walls. I even noticed a picture of James Dean's car, Little Bastard—the Porsche Spyder he crashed in. Reid sat at the computer and attempted to log on, but was unsuccessful.

"Gun safe is empty," Morgan told us, coming in.

"That's a surprise," Reid said sarcastically.

"That's James Dean's Porsche," Morgan remarked, looking at the picture. "No pics of James Dean, though. That's a bad sign."

"Especially when your mother died in a car accident," I added.

"Still haven't found the Father of the Year Award," Reid said, heading over to check the bedside table. Morgan stared at him.

"You already check his computer?" he asked.

"It's password encrypted," Reid told him.

"Well, smart move if your dad's a cop."

"Eh, assuming he cares enough to snoop."

I looked beside me. Reid was at my elbow, looking at the Metallica posters on the wall beside me. I wanted to say something, but I didn't want him to snap at me again.

"Hey, Reid," Morgan said. "Check yourself. That sheriff out there wanted to take your head off. I think Hotch might've let him."

Reid ignored this, turning away towards the closet. I stepped over to the bureau, opening the drawers and looking inside.

"All these clothes are black," I said, lifting up a T-shirt.

"The same here," Reid said from the closet.

"Just like his friend Johnny Cash," Morgan sighed.

"Owen must identify as being a misunderstood loner," I closed the drawer and folded my arms across my chest.

"You know, I wish all our unsubs would just tack their profiles on their walls like this for us," Morgan licked his lips.

He looked over at me. God, how I wished he'd stop staring at me. Ever since he'd woken me up on the plane I kept getting looks of concern. For someone who was so secretive about Carl Buford, I didn't understand why he wouldn't let go. It wasn't like I was never going to tell him or anyone else about Bobby and Tyler. I just needed to do it on my own time and now was not it. The more he pried, the less I wanted to talk about it.

"That doesn't mean anything. What, you grew up in Chicago, a high school jock, you had pictures of…Scottie Pippen and Michael Jordan all over your walls, trophies everywhere?" Reid shot back.

"Yeah. But you forgot Walter Payton. Not to mention the sexy ladies of the _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit issues," Morgan smirked, indicating an hourglass figure by the way he moved his hands.

I rolled my eyes and walked over to the closet. "Smart money says you didn't paint your mirrors black," I scratched at the dark surface.

"I guess Owen didn't like what he saw."

"Don't try to stop me. I need to get by!" a woman said from outside the house.

"Guys," Morgan said, gesturing for us to follow him out of the house.

"Let me by, let me by! Bart, don't you try to stop me. Let me by! Is it true?" the woman continued.

"Sarah, please," Hallum responded.

"If it's true, you tell me!"

" _Sarah_."

"Did Lou's freak son shoot Byron?"

"Go home to your kids, Sarah. The kids need you at home."

"My children need their daddy."

We finally made it out onto the porch, where an angry woman was sharing words with Hallum. Hotch turned to look at us.

"It's Officer Letts' wife," he explained, climbing the stairs to the porch.

"Send _them_ home," Sarah pointed at us. "You don't need 'em. You know what to do. You find that little sonofabitch. You find him and do what's right." She turned on her heel and stormed off the property.

"Why do I get the feeling she's not gonna be the only one with that sentiment?" Morgan watched her retreating figure.

"You and McCarthy stay here and work the room. Reid and I are going to go to the high school and talk to Owen's teachers and friends. We need to get a profile and figure out where he's going," Hotch ordered, descending the stairs with the doctor in tow.

"All right," I sighed, leading the way back into the house.

* * *

We received word that Owen had left his truck at a convenience store near the Interstate, along with another victim. He shot a nineteen year-old named Kyle Borden in the face. At first it was assumed that he was on the road, but after learning that Owen had stolen frozen foods and perishables from the store, Rossi and Emily deduced that he was staying somewhere nearby. Also, the ME report had gotten back.

"Huh. Well, thank you," I hung up the phone and sat on Owen's mattress as Morgan fiddled with the computer. "Either Jordan Norris was a were-pig or she's still alive and Owen's got her with him."

" _Were-pig_?" Morgan whipped his head around to look at me.

"The remains found in the field were three hams and a dozen bone-end ribeyes stuffed in a pair of her jeans," I told him with a sigh.

"This kid is smart," Morgan shook his head, turning back to the screen.

"I'll say," I leaned back on the bed and crossed my arms over my eyes. I yawned silently, still tired from the trip over.

"Mick."

"Hmm?" I grunted, not moving.

"I know something happened to you. Something involving a guy named Bobby…" he trailed off.

"Derek, please," I whispered, a lump forming in my throat.

"I'm just worried about you is all," he said.

"Don't be. Seriously. It's nothing. It's over. It's done," I sat up and met his gaze. "Please."

"I want to help," Morgan told me. "Clearly it's still bothering you. It might help to talk."

"I've already talked about it," I rubbed my forehead with the heels of my hands. "To a therapist, to my family, to Hotch, to Rossi." I noticed that he looked a little hurt about the last name I spouted off, as if he was offended that I'd talked to the newest member of our team about something before him. "It's nothing personal, Derek."

"Hunter, you were talking in your sleep—"

"Something I've been doing since I was a little kid," I pointed out in exasperation. "I appreciate the support, Morgan, I really do. It means the world to me. But right now, we've got a teenager on a violent rampage and another one missing. That's what I'm trying to focus on, not dwelling on the past."

Morgan stared into my eyes for a moment. He looked like he was about to protest.

"Please," I begged.

"All right. Let's try to figure out this password," he turned back to face the computer. Owen's background was a picture of Hope celebrating her birthday. "Come on, Mom," Morgan sighed after another password failed.

I glanced at the poster hanging on the curtain above him. I stood and leaned over his shoulder. "Try Johnny Cash."

He typed 'johnnycash' into the text bar, but it buzzed and told him to try again. "Hope Savage…I know you're trying to tell me something," he rocked back and forth in the chair. Then it came to him. "Hope." Those four letters worked and we got into the system. "Okay."

I knelt on the ground by his elbow and watched as Morgan dug through the files on the teenager's desktop. We tried to look through his emails, but he'd deleted them. We also looked through his pictures—mostly shots of him and Jordan, or old family photos of him and his mother. But then we found something that almost broke my heart. I pulled out my phone and called Hotch.

" _You got something?_ " he asked.

"An mpeg on Owen's computer," I chewed my lip. "You really need to see this."

We sent Hotch the video of Owen Savage getting hazed when he was a freshman. He'd been forced to masturbate in front of three boys on the wrestling team, all the while getting filmed unbeknownst to him. Apparently the video had gone viral on the school's website years before and was taken down immediately. But, as we all know, once something's put on the internet, it's there forever. Hotch and Reid tried to get ahold of the boys who'd hazed Owen, but they didn't show up for school that day.

Kyle Borden also turned out to have been more than just a victim. He'd raped Jordan when she was a freshman and told everyone about it. Owen had killed him in order to collect injustices. Speaking of which, Garcia sent Morgan and me a link to the school website where another video had been posted.

It was Owen Savage filming himself as he gunned down the boys that hazed him. They were at the edge of a river. And Johnny Cash was playing hauntingly in the background.

* * *

"Garcia restored those emails," I told Reid, who'd shown up after getting reprimanded by Hotch for his attitude. I guess he'd gotten upset when they delivered Owen's profile and blamed the police force for not being able to prevent Owen's killing spree.

"Yeah, I'm sorting through them right now," Reid said.

I laid on my back and yawned, wanting a little too much to take a nap. I turned over onto my side and curled up in a fetal position, propped up on my elbow. I couldn't get the warbling voice of Johnny Cash out of my head.

 _There's a man…goin' round…takin' names_.

Morgan came over and took a seat beside my bent knees on the mattress. He looked down at me and offered a bitter smile. I returned it, tapping my thigh to the beat in my head with my thumb.

 _And he decides…who to free…and who to blame._

"Reid," Morgan said, getting the doctor's attention. "You know, you're not the only one who identifies with him." Reid swiveled in the chair. "You said I was a high school jock. I was. But not at first." Even I sat up to listen. "My freshman year, I was five-foot-three." Morgan snickered. "I weighed a buck-twenty soakin' wet. So trust me when I tell you I got my ass kicked every day. So the following summer, I hit the weights. And I got lucky—I grew six inches. But it was never about vanity, Reid. It was about survival."

Reid was silent for a moment. He looked down and cleared his throat. "I was in the library and, uh, Harper Hillman comes up to me and she tells me that, uh, Alexa Lisbon wants to meet me behind the field house. Alexa Lisbon's, like, easily the prettiest girl in school."

"So what happened?" I asked, nervous for what he was going to say. Reid was barely an adolescent when he was in high school. And I knew he wasn't popular. "Alexa wasn't there?"

"She was there. So was the entire football team. They…uh…stripped me naked and tied me to a goal post. So many kids were there, you know, just watching."

"Nobody tried to stop them?" Morgan asked.

I gulped, my heart feeling heavy.

"Mm-mmm," Reid shook his head tearfully. "I begged-I begged them to, but they just-they just watched… And finally, they got bored and they left. It was, like, midnight when I finally got home. And my mom didn't… Mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late." Reid's mother suffered from schizophrenia.

"Oh, Reid," I sighed.

"You never told her what happened?" Morgan asked.

"I never told anybody. I thought…it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday," Reid said.

Morgan let out a sharp breath through his nose. "Ah, Reid, you don't need an eidetic memory for that."

"You know, we forget half of what they teach us in school, but when it comes to the torment and the people who inflicted it, we've all got an elephant's memory," I said softly, feeling Morgan's eyes on me.

"What do you know about torment?" Reid asked, his brows furrowed. "You weren't bullied in high school. You were a privileged, upper-middle class girl with lots o-of friends. You were _cool_."

"Reid," Morgan looked at me as though I were a ticking time bomb about to have an emotional breakdown, but I remained calm. I wasn't angry or upset with Reid at all. I knew where he was coming from.

"You're right. You're absolutely right," I admitted. "I wasn't bullied. I did have lots of friends, but I lost the closest one I had when I was a sophomore—violently. And if you think for a second there isn't a day I don't think about her and what happened, then you're sorely mistaken."

Morgan sighed, clapping my shoulder.

"I know that comparing what I've been through to what you and Owen experienced is like comparing apples to oranges," I added. "But don't tell me I don't know about torment."

"I'm sorry," Reid whispered and looked away. He took a deep breath. "Owen just wants to forget. I know what that's like."

"He's been makin' a big deal out of saying goodbye to Jordan in all of his emails. None of it's shorthand," Morgan said, changing the subject.

"He never got a chance to say goodbye to his mother," Reid figured. "Abandonment is his biggest fear. That's why he chose Jordan. He thinks she'll never leave."

* * *

"Owen's mother's death left him with severe issues of abandonment," Reid reported as we entered the office in the sheriff's department. He, Morgan, and I met Emily and Hotch at the bulletin board. "If we can get Jordan away from him, we'll save her and take away his reason to live."

"He'll take his own life," Hotch reminded the doctor.

"It's the only way we can save Jordan," Morgan pointed out.

"How can we get her to leave him?"

"He's left Jordan in the dark," I said. "She doesn't know about the murders."

"You want to tell her?" Hotch asked, his arms folded across his chest.

"If we can," Morgan said.

"We can get her to turn herself in," Emily suggested.

"But even if we could talk to her, the only person she trusts is Owen," Hotch said.

"There's one other person. She might be able to get a message to Jordan," Emily pulled out her phone.

She called Eileen, Jordan's only other friend. She was a sweet girl who took Jordan under her wing after Kyle Borden had raped her. She let Reid, Emily, JJ, and Hotch access Jordan through her laptop. My teammates had been able to convince a reluctant Jordan to run away, but Owen had found out about the interference.

We were afraid we might have gotten Jordan killed.

"It was the right thing to do," I squeezed Emily's elbow, standing at the bulletin board with her and JJ.

"I know. I just—I really thought we could save her," she responded dejectedly.

JJ was playing with her necklace. She looked out towards the front of the office. "Emily."

"We had no choice," Emily continued.

"Emily," JJ repeated with more force.

Emily and I both turned. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Jordan, very much alive, standing a few yards away, staring at us.

"Jordan," Emily said.

We pulled her into a questioning room and tried to get her comfortable. We asked if she wanted anything to eat or drink, but she said she was fine. And then we started the interview. She told us how she didn't believe us until she saw a dead body outside of the house they were squatting in and Owen in the process of digging him a grave.

"I got to the car while Owen was…digging," she said, her tears cutting through the make-up on her face. "And he didn't see me until he heard me start the truck. He tried to stop me, but I j-I kept drivin'."

"We need to know where he is," Emily told her.

Jordan shook her head. "You're gonna hurt him."

"We don't wanna hurt Owen," I crouched beside her and grabbed one of her shaking hands.

"But we think Owen might hurt himself or someone else if we don't get to him really soon," Emily added.

Jordan looked at both JJ and me with her tearful eyes. Then she turned back to Emily. "He's at S-Stratman's ranch."

* * *

"They think he's going to his mother's grave," Reid said, charging up to the bulletin board. He grabbed the picture of Hope and ripped it off the tack.

"Isn't he?" I asked.

"He was gone when we got to the ranch," Reid went over to Jordan. "I wanna save his life, but I need to ask you a question. This necklace—he gave it to you?"

"Uh," Jordan tapped her chest, "I left it a-at the ranch."

"He's coming here," Reid said, walking off.

JJ, who'd been sitting with Jordan, came to the doorway between the questioning room and where the bulletin board was.

"Call Hotch, tell him, and don't let her out of this room," Emily told her. She and I followed Reid outside of the station. "What makes you think he'll come here?" Emily asked, scanning the almost empty street.

"It's what I would do," Reid said.

"There he is," I said, nodding to the blonde figure dressed in a black trench coat who had turned a corner, cradling an assault rifle in his arms.

"Prentiss, McCarthy, cover me," Reid said, handing me his Glock.

"Whoa, hold on," I protested. "Reid!"

"Do not shoot," he pointed at me as he stepped into the street.

"Reid!" Emily echoed.

"Owen, I don't have a gun," Reid held his arms up in the air.

Owen stopped in his tracks, noticing Emily and me as we stood in the doorway of the station, our guns trained on him from the shadow behind the brick wall.

"My name is Spencer, I'm with the FBI, and I'm here to help you," Reid continued.

"Yeah? I need you to stay back," Owen told him.

The Suburban carrying Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan screeched to a halt behind the doctor.

"I know the only reason you joined the team was for your father. I know that he blamed you for what happened," Reid dared to take a step forward, just as our teammates piled out of the car with their guns at the ready.

"Stay back!" Owen yelled. "Right where you are!"

"I also know the only reason you killed Rod Norris and Kyle Borden was to protect Jordan. I know the harder you tried, the worse it got, and it felt like everybody just stood there watching you suffer—not a single person even tried to help."

"They didn't. They didn't."

Reid glanced back towards Rossi, Morgan, and Hotch. I could tell he was trying to block everyone's shot. He was too far away for me to hear what he was saying to the teenager anymore, but I could tell that he was doing a damn fine job negotiating with Owen. The boy looked around, wiped his nose, and reached into a pocket on his coat. I gulped, hoping he wasn't going to do something reckless. But he just unstrapped his rifle from his arm, stepped forward, and placed the weapon on the ground in front of Reid.

Morgan and Hotch ran to the boy as he handed something to Reid. "Don't move!" the former shouted. "Don't move." He cuffed Owen just as Hallum's car came down the road, siren blaring.

"It's all over," Rossi said, his hands in the air as the sheriff stepped out of his vehicle. "It's okay."

Emily and I put our guns down. I couldn't wait to give Reid his back. That move stressed me out. We went inside and found Jordan and JJ, telling them to come out into the hallway. I watched Reid and Morgan frog-march Owen into the station. Reid was holding onto the necklace. Owen stared at his crying girlfriend. Reid led him over and handed Jordan the piece of jewelry. Without a word, Owen nodded at the doctor and they walked away.

* * *

I sat at the couch, cracking my knuckles individually. We hadn't been in the air for long, but fatigue was setting in. I sighed, not knowing if I should chance taking another nap and scaring the shit out of my teammates again.

"You look exhausted," Rossi said, taking a seat next to me.

"I am," I let out a bitter chuckle. "But I think it would be better for everyone's in-fight enjoyment if I wait until I'm at home to catch up on my beauty sleep."

"You worried me the other day," he told me.

"Sorry."

"Are you okay?"

I breathed out sharply through my nose. His concern was so touching. I started playing with my hair. "I-I think that whole…incident…just happened because as much as I want to deny it, I'm hurting after Ted…"

Rossi reached out and grabbed my shoulder. I felt my body grow warmer. I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around him indefinitely. In a lapse of judgement, I'd hugged him that one time outside of the Chula Vista Police Department. The brief moment where I stood in his arms had felt so right, but I knew that it couldn't happen again. Especially not in front of my team.

"I've been trying not to dwell, you know?" I continued, choosing to hug myself instead. "I can't afford to let any more stress get to me, so I've been trying to shut it out. It's like sleep is my only outlet and I think that's why that flashback thing happened."

"I don't think you'll be doing yourself any favors by forcing yourself to stay awake right now," Rossi murmured, squeezing my shoulder before letting go. He made to stand up, but I impulsively reached out and touched his arm.

"Will, um…will you just stay here, then?" I asked, taking a deep breath.

Rossi smiled and leaned back against the couch. "Of course, Hunter."

"Thank you," I said. I tried to hold back my own smile. I loved it when he said my name. I let go of his arm and curled into a ball, closing my eyes.

* * *

 _Morgan sighed and opened his eyes. He had been trying to fall asleep on the jet, but he just couldn't turn his thoughts off. He was thinking about Reid's bullying story…and what Mick had said about losing her friend in high school. She had been on his mind a lot, after what happened on the trip over._

 _He sat up and looked over at where she sat on the couch. Prentiss had noticed Morgan's change in posture and tore her eyes away from her book, smiling at their teammate._

 _They watched as Mick readjusted herself, laying on her side. She plopped her head in Rossi's lap, her hand against his thigh. The older agent opened his eyes, waking up from his own slumber, and stared down at his legs._

 _Morgan watched as Rossi gave Mick a faint smile. He stroked a piece of her hair and then stretched his arm out over the back of the couch. He rested his head against his shoulder and fell back asleep._

 _"Isn't that a little…inappropriate?" Morgan looked at Prentiss for back-up._

 _She shook her head and returned to her book. "Just let it happen."_

 _Morgan looked at Mick. Her face looked peaceful. She seemed happy. That was good enough for him. He sank back in his seat at the table and closed his eyes._

* * *

 **12-23-17 MAJOR EDIT: I took out the sleep-singing thing at the end because I kinda hated it and it's been bothering me since I wrote it (but clearly not enough for me to do anything about it until now, haha)**


	12. Owen Kim Comes to Town

**"I just realized** I'm three hours off my regular schedule and I'm not going to be able to fall asleep at a decent hour," Owen Kim said. "How on God's green earth do you profilers get used to the constant jet lag?"

"We don't," I raised my wine glass to my lips.

"Thank God my flight's not until three in the afternoon tomorrow," he shook his head.

I smirked to myself. I started thinking about how things would have been had we actually cemented a relationship two years earlier. The constant flights. The aforementioned jet lag. Luckily for our media liaison, her beau was on the same coast…

 _Emily and I watched from a distance as JJ gave Will LaMontagne his murdered partner's badge. We'd just wrapped up a case in South Beach, Florida with the help of the handsome detective. Emily and I had tried to do some recon to get JJ to admit that she was shacking up with him, but she refused to play ball._

 _"No, no, don't let him go," I whispered, wringing my hands. I watched as Will grabbed his bag and made to leave._

 _"It's not over yet," Emily said. She stepped over to JJ and said something, nodding her head towards the detective's retreating figure. And whatever she said worked._

 _JJ ran off after Will. I went over to Emily and craned my neck to see JJ talking to the detective. Then he grabbed her face and pulled her into a passionate kiss. Morgan and Reid came up behind us, watching the spectacle._

 _"Well, finally," Morgan smirked._

 _"Mm," Emily grunted and walked off._

 _"I never thought she was going to admit it," I smirked, following her._

 _"Yeah, what's it been, like, a year?" Reid asked._

 _"Yeah," Morgan snickered. "Somethin' like that."_

…"So, how's the team?" Owen asked, his eyes on me.

"Oh, we're good," I nodded, crossing my bare legs under the table. I was wearing a lilac colored cocktail dress. I had pinned my hair into a chignon with the help of a YouTube tutorial.

"Still got all of the same goons in your squad?" he gave me a cheeky smile.

"Alas, no. We've swapped out two goons since we've known you," I replied.

"Which two goons? Wait—let me guess… The boy-genius and the serious one?"

I snickered. "No, Dr. Reid and Hotch are still with us. It was the sassy Latina and…well, I don't really know how else to describe Gideon."

"You're kidding, Gideon left?" Kim raised his eyebrows.

"Mm," I nodded. "He just…left us in the lurch. The job was getting to him, as it tends to do."

"How did you replace him? He was a legend."

"We replaced him with _another_ legend."

"Who?" Owen leaned closer.

"David Rossi," I said, unable to contain my smile at his name.

"No shit? That's amazing. I've read his books. That guy's incredible. I'm a big fan," Owen remarked.

"Yeah, same," I said. _Understatement of the century_.

"So what happened to the girl? Uh, Ellen, was that her name?" Owen narrowed his eyes.

" _Elle_ also kinda had her own emotional crisis and left us too," I said. "She was replaced by Emily Prentiss. Her mom's a diplomat."

"Not nearly as impressive," Owen smirked.

"Hey, no shit-talking on Emily," I jokingly scolded him. "She's on my top five favorite people in the world."

"My bad," he raised his hands in surrender, chuckling.

"How are you, Owen?" I asked.

"Better now," he nodded, putting his hand over mine on the table. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm trying to flirt with you."

My cheeks felt warm. Though I hadn't really been excited to go on this date, he was very charming. It was nice to see him again. And it was nice to feel as beautiful as he made me feel.

"The reason I stopping talking to you for a while was because I started dating someone," he said. "I know it's an unspoken rule not to talk about your exes, especially not on a first date, but I thought I owed it to you to let you know why."

"No, that's fine. You can talk about it all you want," I gave him a reassuring smile.

"Well, I just wasn't happy with her. And towards the end, I realized that I kept thinking about that cute brunette from the BAU," he squeezed my hand.

I gulped. He'd left a solid girlfriend to pursue something with me that I wasn't one hundred percent sure I could offer him. Thankfully, our waiter came by with our food. I was more than elated to dig into my eggplant parm. Owen stared at me as he ate his steak. I smiled at him, trying my hardest not to eat like a slob.

Halfway through our meal, something caught my eye. A familiar person was making his way through the restaurant. I felt the bottom of my stomach fall out.

There was Rossi, with a woman on his arm. She wasn't Carolyn. She was a blonde, somewhere in early middle-age. Her dainty hand was tucked into the crook of his elbow as the maître d' walked them through the restaurant.

"You okay, Hunter?" Owen reached out and grabbed my hand.

I took a deep breath, rubbing at the spot of pressure building on my chest with my free hand. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

"Heartburn?" he cocked a brow. I wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

"No, it's…nothing."

"Okay," he leaned back in his seat, but kept his hand on mine.

I was thankful to see that Rossi and his lady-friend had been seated far away from us. I felt jealous enough as it was, the last thing I needed was to be subjected to staring at them all through my date.

"Thank you for your concern," I said, interlocking my fingers with Owen's. I wasn't sure if I was acting out of spite or if the rush of positive emotion towards him was real.

He smiled down at our hands and continued with his meal.

* * *

Many glasses of wine later, Owen and I were in my house, lying in a heap together on my couch. The TV was on, but neither one of us was actually watching it. Our legs were entwined and my hand was against his rock-hard chest. He was holding onto my cheeks, kissing me not unlike Will did with JJ back in South Beach.

"I really like you, Hunter," he said, pressing his forehead against mine as we separated for breath.

Instead of responding, I readjusted myself so I was straddling his waist. Kissing him, I began to unbutton his shirt. He sat up, cradling me to his chest, and got to his feet. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he maneuvered the two of us up the stairs, into my bedroom. He set me down on the ground and unzipped my dress in the back.

I finished getting the rest of his shirt undone and began to undo his pants. There was no going back now.

* * *

"Hunter. Hunter. Come on, wake up."

I opened my eyes, my head pounding. Owen was shaking my shoulder, his shirt hanging open. He was busy packing up his stuff.

"I'm sorry, but we overslept. I have to catch my flight," he said, buttoning the shirt quickly.

"Sorry," I mumbled, rolling out of bed with my sheet wrapped around myself. I grabbed some clothes and darted out into the bathroom down the hall.

I couldn't help but feel ashamed of myself as I got ready to leave. I'd slept with Owen out of drunken jealousy. Had I not seen Rossi with that woman the night before, there's a good chance this would never have happened. I felt sick to my stomach and I knew it wasn't (completely) because I'd drank the night before. I was angry with myself for playing with Owen's emotions this way. I didn't know what I'd tell him if he asked to see me again. I hoped that this would just blow over like nothing happened.

I pulled my charcoal colored quarter-zip sweatshirt on and fastened my jeans. I brushed my hair into a messy bun and brought my sheet back to my bedroom, where Owen was zipping up his duffel.

"I'm ready when you are," I said, throwing the sheet onto my bed. "Meet me downstairs."

I hurried down to my living room and tied my Converse onto my feet. Owen came down in a moment, slipping into his loafers. He checked his watch and looked at me. He put one hand on my cheek and smiled, placing a kiss on my forehead.

"Ready?" I faked a smile. That action only made me feel worse.

"Yeah," he murmured, letting go of my face.

I dropped him off at the airport, walking him to security. He enveloped me in his arms and I hugged him back. He looked into my eyes and placed a kiss on my lips. I barely responded, but I think he just chalked it up to me being tired.

"Have a safe flight," I said, stepping out of his arms.

"Thanks," he nodded with a smile. "Call me."

I waved and walked off. I couldn't help feeling like a terrible person. When I got to my car, I sat behind the wheel with my head in my hands. Part of me wanted to call Emily to talk about it, but I knew she'd ask questions that I really didn't want to answer.

I took a deep breath and drove myself home. I changed into a sports bra and a pair of basketball shorts. I went for a long run, blasting music in my ears to distract me from my thoughts. But for once in my life, the Beastie Boys didn't solve any of my problems. As I kept running, my stomach continued to churn.

I stopped along the pathway in the woods. I crouched down on the ground and let it all out—my regret for my actions the night before, my sorrow for Ted's death, all of the stress I had been accruing over the years. And as much as I knew it could never happen (and likely _would_ never happen), all I wanted was to feel Rossi's arms around me one more time.


	13. The Crossing

**"Tell me** ** _everything_** **,"** Emily said as I handed her a coffee.

"I-It…" I stuttered, not sure how to explain what had happened that weekend. I sank into my chair, cuffing the sleeves of my blouse over my sweater, rolling them up to my elbows. "I don't think I'm going to call him."

"That bad?" she cocked her head, getting up to sit on a clear part of my desk.

" _He_ wasn't bad," I said. "I just made some bad decisions."

"Oh no, you sealed the deal too early," Emily read between the lines, her hand over her mouth.

"Something like that," I muttered, noticing that Morgan was listening from his desk.

"Aw, Mick, you _dog_ ," he smirked.

"Please, kick me while I'm down," I deadpanned.

"I mean, look at the bright side. He lives in California. How often do you think you're going to run into him?" Emily shrugged.

I sipped at my coffee. "God, I hope he doesn't call us in to help on a case again."

"He might not," Morgan said. "We rarely ever run into the same detective twice."

"Was he at least, you know, _good_?" Emily murmured, bouncing her eyebrows.

"Yeah," I admitted sheepishly. "Very good."

"So what was the problem?" she asked.

"I just…I think he actually wanted to, you know, pursue a relationship and _I_ am just not emotionally available to do that at this time," I shook my head.

"I get it," Emily nodded. "At least he was a good lay."

My eyes widened and my face heated up. The minute she said that, Rossi had come up behind her with a packet in his hands. I put a hand on my forehead.

"What?"

"McCarthy," Rossi stepped around her and came closer to me. He was acting like he didn't hear Emily's declaration. "Aaron and I were asked to deliver a seminar on terrorism in Boston."

Emily looked embarrassed as she got off my desk and sat at her own.

"Yeah?" I furrowed my brow, wondering what that had to do with me.

"There was a last minute request for your presence to be there," he continued. "ASAC Timothy Reynolds, I believe was his name."

"Oh, Tim? He's a friend of my dad's," I said.

"Think you can memorize your lines?" Rossi handed me the packet. It was an outline of the presentation.

"When is it?" I asked, flipping through the highlighted pages.

"Jet leaves in an hour," he said, a hint of a smirk on his face.

"Oh," my eyebrows shot up. "Um, yeah."

* * *

"Fear is the weapon," I concluded. "If his target is afraid and affected, then he's won."

"Again, myself and SSAs Hotchner and McCarthy are available to any of you should you need us. The direct line to our liaison is in the packet you received," Rossi said from the podium beside me.

"And trust your instincts and experience, they're the best tools you have," Hotch added. "Thank you."

The crowd of law enforcement officers gave us a round of applause before getting up. I saw Tim Reynolds, an older man with a bushy gray mustache under his hook nose, beaming proudly up at me. I smiled back. Tim and my dad grew up together. I was about to go over to him when a woman approached Hotch.

"Eve Alexander, Suffolk County District Attorney," she shook his hand.

"SSA Hotchner. These are SSAs McCarthy and Rossi," Hotch introduced.

"I know," Eve smiled at the latter. "Big fan of your books."

Tim came up to me and pulled me aside, thankfully. I had a feeling I was going to be treated yet again like chopped liver by another woman in the presence of Rossi.

"How are you, Uncle Tim?" I asked, shaking his hand.

"Excellent, excellent," he said.

"Thank you for, uh, inviting me to come along," I said.

"I couldn't help myself. I don't see you enough, but I hear all about you from Andy," Tim smiled. "Well, it was awful good to see you again. I must be going."

"Okay. Good to see you too," I said, watching as he left. I turned back to Eve, who was talking to Hotch and Rossi.

"Two days ago, a woman named Audrey Henson did this to her husband of twenty years while he was sleeping," she said, handing Hotch a file that was opened to a picture of a man with a gunshot wound to the back. "She confessed while sitting next to the body at the crime scene and repeated her confession to me at the lockup. Care to guess what her lawyer's already working on as her defense?"

"Battered woman syndrome," Hotch said, sharing the file with Rossi, whose shoulder I was looking over.

"After years of systematic abuse, his client _suddenly_ had no option left to her but a twelve-gauge," Eve said in an upsettingly skeptical tone. "And yet there's never been a domestic violence report filed from that home. Not a single medical record documenting injury. And not _one_ witness who can say they ever saw or even suspected abuse."

"So what do you need from us?" Hotch folded his arms across his chest.

"I think I can win this case anyway, but…I'd like you to help me prove that she's lying," Eve said.

"Proving a negative, that something didn't happen, is always a long shot," Hotch pointed out, probably from his years of working as a prosecutor.

"Yes, but you can show she doesn't fit the profile of a battered woman," she challenged.

"What if she isn't lying?" I put my hands on my hips.

"That's not gonna be a problem," Eve said smugly. "Her husband can't defend himself from what she's saying about him any more than he could against the shotgun. Doesn't that bother anyone?"

"Will she talk to us? Has she waived her rights?" Hotch asked.

"Her attorney's already agreed to let her. He practically insists on it. Claims she's got nothing to hide."

Rossi tried to exchange glances with me, but I didn't want to play ball. Even though I knew there was no chance of anything happening between us, seeing him with that woman had really made me upset—more so than it should have. I felt hypocritical thinking that way because I'd seen them while I was also on a date.

"Now, I can't promise that what we'll find is gonna help your case," Hotch told her.

"Let me worry about that," Eve said.

* * *

 _Rossi looked up from the file splayed out on the table before him. McCarthy was sitting across from him and to the left. She was staring down at another file, absentmindedly rubbing the nape of her neck._

 _Her hair was tied into a braid that hung over her shoulder and she was dressed more formally than he usually saw her, having changed before the presentation. Her black blazer was draped over the back of her seat, revealing a gray blouse. She had rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and unbuttoned the shirt at the top. Her blouse was tucked into a black pencil skirt that ended a few inches away from her knees, revealing her shapely legs. On her feet were a pair of Louboutin pumps._

 _McCarthy glanced at him, quickly averting her eyes. Something about her seemed off to David. From what he knew of the agent, she was friendly and warm, but today she seemed colder than usual. There was no flush to her cheeks, no attempt to hide a smile, no squirming under his gaze. She seemed preoccupied. He hoped she was okay._

 _"Nothing at all?" Hotch said into his phone as he came into the room._

 _"_ No, sir, there's no driver's license, no passport, no bank account. It's not even jointly held. Her name's not on their plastic, their checks, their mortgage, their car titles. Nothing, nothing nothing _," Garcia said over the speaker as Hotch lay the phone on the table between the three agents. "_ Aside from a birth certificate and a marriage license, there's no actual record that Audrey Henson even exists. _"_

 _"How many years in the current home?" Hotch asked, standing across from Rossi._

 _"_ It looks like they've lived in that house their whole married life. _"_

 _"And we're certain there are no medical records that point to a history of abuse?" "_ Actually, sir, there's no medical record at all beyond the birth of their second child, Nathan. _"_

 _"What about life insurance?" Hotch asked. "Any assets? Any financial motive for Audrey to kill her husband?"_

 _"_ No. I mean, there's insurance, but Mrs. Henson isn't the beneficiary of any of the policies. _"_

 _"She's not," Hotch repeated._

 _"_ Sarah, their nineteen year-old daughter, is. _"_

 _"Thanks," Hotch hung up._

* * *

"Is that what my mother said? That he _hit_ her?" Sarah gaped her mouth in what looked like disgust.

"We haven't spoken to your mother yet, but we understand it's being suggested by her attorney," Rossi said evenly.

"Unbelievable," Nathan shook his head. His sister was pacing.

"She's actually blaming _him_?" Sarah glared at me, as if it were my fault.

"I take it you don't believe she was abused," I responded.

"If anyone was abused, it was my _father_ —what he had to put up with, being married to _her_ ," she said.

"She was a lousy cook. Uh, sh-she couldn't do the laundry right. The house was always filthy. Hell, she couldn't even grocery shop without some kind of supervision," Nathan told us.

"Supervision?" Hotch furrowed his brow from where he sat. He was between Rossi and me, who were standing.

"She'd get all the wrong things," he explained. "Wrong brands, too much or too little of something."

"And my father was always patient with her. Always," Sarah said.

"She's just…she isn't…"

"She's not bright."

"You mean she's mentally challenged?" Hotch asked.

"No, I mean she's _stupid_ ," Sarah retorted.

My brows shot up. I had never known anyone to talk about their parent that way.

"This is your _mother_ we're talking about here," Rossi reminded her.

"No, we're talking about a woman who killed the only real parent we've ever had," Sarah said. "Our father was kind and gentle and loving."

"He always had time for us. Always," Nathan added. "He was at every game, every school event, everything important."

"What about your mother?" I asked.

"She never went to anything. Not once in my whole life. I guess she just couldn't be bothered," Nathan chuckled bitterly.

"So, if your father didn't abuse your mother, why did she kill him?" I shifted my weight to one leg.

Nathan glanced back and forth between us and his sister. "Probably just to take him away from us."

"She was jealous that he loved us more than her," Sarah said.

"Why would she think that?" Hotch asked.

The siblings caught each other's eye. Then Nathan looked right at Hotch.

"Because he said so all the time."

* * *

I stared at the family photo of the Hensons that hung on the bedroom wall. Hotch stood beside me.

"The perfect family," he commented.

"Two mattresses," Rossi said, looking at the two stripped twin beds in the same frame. There was a pool of Mr. Henson's blood on one of them.

"That's less intimate," Hotch said.

"She passed the murder weapon every day," Rossi gestured to the open gun case near the walk-in closet. "And the kids said she couldn't keep house. I can't see anything out of place." He held out his arms in a W-shape as Hotch and I came to his side by said closet. "Look, even the hangers are uniformly spaced. And the shoes—I bet if we measured, they'd be almost perfect."

"The kids obviously adopted their father's skewed perspective of their mother," I folded my arms across my chest, leading the way back towards the bed.

"The family that abuses together…" Rossi joked.

"You know, I thought it was just the angle of the crime scene photos," Hotch said. "There's obviously something missing."

I sucked on my bottom lip, trying to figure out what that was. Rossi got it before I did.

"The rest of the blood," he said.

"Somebody cleaned up," I sighed. I looked at Rossi, who had turned his gaze to me, then glanced at Hotch. "Three guesses who."

* * *

My phone buzzed in my blazer pocket. I gulped, looking down at the contact information once I'd pulled the device out. I was sitting inside a room in the Boston PD with Hotch and Rossi. We digging into our Chinese take-out while looking over our case files. I could feel the latter's eyes on me as I ignored the call.

Hotch himself was also on the phone with JJ. "And there's nothing else pending? … No, no, it's okay … Uh, we'll be back tomorrow. I'm gonna need the rest of you back then, as well … Okay, thanks," he hung up.

"They're working on a single stalker case?" I asked, scooping up a spoonful of rice.

"Mm-hmm."

"All of them?" Rossi raised his eyebrows, handing the family picture of the Hensons to Hotch.

"JJ seems pretty passionate about it," Hotch said. He looked at the picture. "You know, sometimes you can see it, but, uh…they all look pretty happy."

"Happiness is easy to fake when you only have a split second," Rossi said. "You should see how many happy-looking photos I have of me with my exes."

I snickered through my nose. I wasn't in the best of moods that day, but that comment genuinely made me smile. The corners of Hotch's lips even turned up. I looked over at Rossi, whose eyes were wide. _What a cutie_ , I let myself think. But when he tried to catch my eye, I looked back at my half-empty take-out box.

"Were you ever happy in any of your marriages?" I asked, not looking at him.

"I don't know, maybe. Maybe not. If I was, I can't remember," he shrugged. "I'm not sure if the idea of me and being married is a good mix."

Just when I thought my insides couldn't go colder…

"You kept trying," the recently-divorced Hotch said.

"Well, I didn't have any kids," Rossi pointed out.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean I might have tried harder if there were children involved."

"I tried."

"Hotch, I…"

"I gave absolutely everything to…Haley and Jack _and_ my job."

"So something had to give."

Hotch nodded, "Yeah. You're right. But it doesn't mean that I am any less committed…or try any less hard…for my son."

"Hey, Hotch, what the hell do I know?" Rossi raised up a hand. "The only people I've ever made happy were divorce lawyers."

"Well, we've got four failed marriages between us. We're experts at something," Hotch said with a sigh. He looked at me. "When are you going to join the club, McCarthy?"

"Ha," I bounced my eyebrows. "The way things are going now, I don't exactly think marriage is in the cards for me."

Rossi furrowed his brows. He looked like he was about to say something, but he kept his mouth shut, exhaling deeply through his nose.

Hotch smiled to himself, then looked back at Rossi. "Where does it all go wrong?"

"Everybody has their breaking point," the older agent said. "Your wife reached hers."

* * *

Clutching at a stitch in my side, I stepped onto the edge of the treadmill. I was alone in the gym at the hotel that night. Why I thought it was a good idea to go for a run after a full day of standing in a pair of heels was beyond me. But I was restless.

And I needed an excuse to leave my phone in my room.

Taking a deep breath, I unzipped my sweatshirt a quarter of the way down, exposing my warm chest to the air coming from the fan. I took a long drink from my water bottle before continuing my run.

Post-workout, I entered the elevator and shoved my hood over my head, my braid sticking out. I didn't want to call attention to my red face. I had pushed my limits on my run and was going to be terribly sore the next day. I was thankful that I had more comfortable shoes in my go-bag.

When I got off on my floor, I passed the ice room and saw Rossi filling up his bucket. I hoped he wouldn't notice me because all I wanted to do was go to sleep. But sure enough, I heard him call out to me mere seconds later.

"Hunter?"

I felt a pain in my chest. Stopping in my tracks, I turned my head and saw him coming up to me. He had taken off his suit jacket and undone the first button of his maroon shirt in the time we'd settled down at the hotel.

"Hi," I said weakly.

"You okay?" he furrowed his brow.

I zipped my sweatshirt up as much as possible and slid my hands into my pockets. "Yeah. Exhausted."

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" he asked slowly.

"Not really," I shrugged. "It's nothing."

He nodded, but I don't think he necessarily bought it. His eyes were searching my face for more answers. I wondered why he cared.

"Night," I said, turning on my heel and unlocking my room. Ignoring the buzzing phone sitting on my bed, I took a long shower and spent a lot of time brushing out my hair afterwards. I dreaded leaving the bathroom, but I knew I had to.

There were three missed calls and a voicemail on my phone. I gulped, ignoring them all and putting the phone on the bedside table before crawling under the covers and curling myself into a ball.

* * *

"You do understand why you're here?" Rossi asked Audrey.

"I killed my husband," she said matter-of-factly.

"And you're aware that you don't have to talk to us?" Hotch added.

"What else is there to say?" Audrey had one tear resting on the shelf of her eye. "I shot him."

"Why?" I asked softly.

She considered her answer before looking at me. "It's what I had to do."

"Had to?"

"It sounds…terrible."

Did Philip ever hit you?" Hotch asked.

"Hit me?" she looked confused.

"Was he abusive?"

"No, never. Not even when I probably deserved…" Audrey gulped. "No, he was very patient with me."

"Why did he need to be patient?" I asked.

"Well, are you kidding? Look at me. After Nathan was born, I completely let myself go. I'm _fat_ , I'm a _terrible_ housekeeper, I'm a _terrible_ cook. No, believe me, I needed a husband with a _lot_ of patience."

I took a deep breath. This was breaking my heart.

"Audrey, Nathan tells us that you never attended any of his sports or school functions, that you were never there, not even once," Rossi mentioned.

"He's probably right," she nodded.

"Why didn't you?"

"Well, I was doing such a terrible job at home, I didn't want to embarrass my kids out in public too," she said, chuckling bitterly, as if that were obvious.

Rossi looked like he was about to say something, but then dipped his head and turned to look at Hotch, who was sitting between us.

* * *

"All right," Eve said, standing before us. "Tell me what you've got."

"No one ever hit this woman," Rossi said.

Eve sniffed. "I knew it."

"And yet, she's been profoundly abused," Hotch said.

Eve looked at him, doing a double-take. "What?"

"Her abuse was psychological," Rossi explained. "He had complete control over her. He cut off all her contact with the outside world."

"You've heard of Stockholm Syndrome, right?" I asked.

"You're kidding me," Eve scoffed.

"Prisoners of war, Patty Hearst, Elizabeth Smart, they all say the same thing: They had no place else to go," Hotch added.

"Why is it that men so easily believe that the woman must somehow be the victim?" Even said. "Clearly they've roped you into thinking that too," she gestured to me.

"You asked our opinion," Hotch pointed out.

"Come in with us," Rossi offered. "There's one thing we haven't asked her yet that might interest you."

We took the skeptical DA into the questioning room with the fragile woman. Hotch went to take Eve to sit across the table from the Audrey. I leaned against the cage and Rossi stood beside me.

"Audrey, you know Ms. Alexander," Hotch said.

"Yes," Mrs. Henson nodded.

"We'd like for you to take us through the killing step by step, as well as you can remember," Hotch continued.

"Mm. Um…I had just…I was finishing up the laundry, and, uh, I was hanging up my husband's shirts in the closet. I looked over and I saw him on the bed. And I knew it had to be then, that that was my only chance," Audrey said, tears silently pouring down her face. "And so, I decided I had to kill him. I picked up the gun…and I shot him. I shot my husband."

Eve looked over at Rossi and me, clearly unconvinced.

"And then you…sat there and waited for someone to come home?" Hotch asked,

"Oh, no, no, no, no, I had to clean up," Audrey corrected.

"Why?"

"Well, there was blood everywhere."

"And did you clean up to hide what you had done?"

"No. No, I was going to tell Sarah what I had done when she got home. I-I wasn't hiding anything."

"But then why clean all the blood up?" Eve piped up.

"Because the police were gonna be coming. Philip would've been furious if I allowed all those strangers into the house with a mess like that."

Eve looked up at us, finally convinced. She told the guards to take Audrey back to her holding cell and met us in the hallway.

"Her life's been punishment enough," I commented, hugging myself.

"I'm gonna have to drag her through a trial," Eve sighed. "I'll recommend she's charged with criminally negligent homicide. By the time it's over, she'll probably get off with probation and time served."

* * *

"Shit," I said under my breath, staring dejectedly at the rubber string I'd accidentally ripped out of my Koosh ball. I tossed the small piece in the small trash bin under my desk and put the rest of the ball on my desk.

We'd just landed in Quantico, missing most of the team after they finished their stalking investigation. I had decided to stay late and file some paperwork I'd been behind on. Rossi and Hotch were up in their offices.

I stared at my phone on the desk, cracking my knuckles. With a sigh, I picked it up and decided to listen to the voicemail.

" _Hey, Hunter. It's Owen. I'm sorry to keep calling you because I'm sure you're busy, but…I dunno. I just wanted to hear your voice. Call me back when you get a second to breathe. Bye._ "

I gulped, feeling the all too familiar pressure on my chest. He was such a sweetheart. And I was a shit-heel. I dialed his number even though I had no idea what I was even going to say.

" _Hello?_ "

"Hi," I said.

" _Is everything okay? I called you a couple times._ "

"Yeah, I saw," I gulped. "Everything's fine. I'm just…I have a lot of shit to deal with right now."

" _I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kept bothering you._ "

"No, you're fine," I dug the heel of my hand into one of my eyes.

" _Are you sure everything's okay?_ "

"Yeah. My life's just shattering into pieces in front of me, but other than that, I'm fine," I chuckled bitterly, glancing up at my half-finished report. In my peripheral vision I could see Rossi leaving his office. He looked like he was about to go see Hotch.

" _What's going on? Is there anything I can do?_ "

"No, but thank you for the offer."

" _Well, call me anytime you need to._ "

"Okay," I said.

" _I had a great time last weekend._ "

"Mm," I hummed. I saw Rossi coming down the stairs. "Look, Owen. I've gotta go."

" _Okay. Like I said, call me._ "

"Have a good night," I muttered, hanging up.

Rossi grabbed Emily's empty chair and slid it in front of me. He sat down, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Need something?" I asked.

He took a deep breath before responding. "How are you?"

I felt a lump in my throat. "Stressed," I said honestly. "How are _you_?"

"Concerned," he stared deeply into my eyes.

"Don't be," I shook my head. It was painful and touching to see him this way. I genuinely didn't understand why he was acting like this.

"How was your weekend?" he asked.

"I dunno. It was…all right. How was yours?"

"Splendid. You went on a date with your 'old friend', right?"

I nodded.

"How was the date, then?"

I shrugged. "How was yours?"

Rossi furrowed his brow. "Why do you think I went on a date?"

"I, uh, I saw you at the restaurant with some blonde lady on your arm," I told him, rubbing my chest.

"Hmm," he nodded. "Melinda. She's just an…"

"Old friend?" I supplied.

"Occasional hookup," he shrugged. "Mostly if I'm feeling lonely."

I nodded, the pressure lessening over my heart. Rossi stared deeply into my eyes and said three words before getting up.

"She means nothing."


	14. Lo-Fi

**The grainy security** camera footage showed a man getting shot in the back of the head in an empty subway station. The assailant was someone clad in all black, a hood over his head, calmly walking off as if he didn't just end a person's life. It was yet another in the series of shootings in the Empire State.

"Don't get comfortable. There'll be time to debrief on the plane," Hotch said, staring at the video as we all gathered in the round table room.

"Where are we headed?" Reid asked.

We'd just recently returned from a case in Roanoke—long story short, the Blue Ridge Strangler had woken up from a coma and couldn't remember anything. I hadn't been afforded enough time to dwell on what Rossi had said to me after our trip to Boston. And judging by the urgency in Hotch's voice, I wouldn't be able to any time soon.

"New York," he replied.

"Five shootings in two weeks," Rossi said, coming up beside me. "It's about time we got the call."

"I wanna take Garcia with us. Hopefully they'll give us access to their surveillance systems," Hotch said.

"What do we know?" Emily asked.

"All the killings are midday. Single gunshot to the head with a .22."

"Any witnesses?" JJ asked.

"No."

".22 caliber pistol's only a hundred-fifty-two decibels. Uh, New York streets and subways are routinely well over a hundred. It could be people aren't even registering the gunshot until the unsub's already leaving the scene," Reid said.

"They sound like mob hits," Morgan suggested.

"Except none of them have ties to organized crime," Hotch said.

"Do they have any connection to each other?" I asked.

"None they've found."

"How about communication with the police? Has the unsub tried to make contact?" Morgan asked.

"Surveillance cameras have captured video of three of the murders," Hotch turned to the screen and clicked the remote. "This is the latest." He showed us the same video that was playing when we stepped in.

"That's the best image they have?" JJ asked.

"They're all the same," Hotch showed us a different one of someone getting shot under a streetlamp. "He wears a hood and keeps his head down."

"This guy's bold. Crowded areas, broad daylight," Emily shook her head.

"So they're completely random?" Rossi asked.

"It seems that way," Hotch muttered, watching another video of someone getting shot as they exited the subway station.

"Son of Sam all over again," Reid said.

* * *

"How come I only get to travel with you guys, like, once every two years?" Garcia complained, making her way onto the jet.

"Trust me, mama, it _can_ get old," Morgan pointed out from behind her, handing the tech goddess her luggage.

"Oh, right, like the way that spa treatments and five star hotels can get old," she snarked.

"Remember the time we got onboard and they hadn't chilled the Cristal?" Emily joked, coming out from behind Morgan.

"That was the day I almost quit the BAU," I played along from my spot on the couch.

"Okay, you know what, you guys can joke all you want 'cause I am _never_ leaving this plane," Garcia said.

I smirked, looking down at the file on my lap. I went through the pictures, just as Rossi was doing at the table a few feet away from me.

"The victims?" he looked at Hotch.

"Each killed in a completely different neighborhood. Hell's Kitchen, Murray Hill, Lower East Side, Chinatown, East Harlem," Hotch said.

Emily sat down on the arm of the chair, handing me a bottle of water. I nodded my thanks.

"It doesn't make any sense. There's no common victimology, no sexual component, no robbery, no geographical connection," Reid said. "Do the police have any leads?"

"He's killing roughly every two days. The press is having a field day and it sounds like the mood on the street's getting pretty edgy," Hotch said.

"It's a joint FBI-NYPD taskforce?" I asked.

Hotch nodded at me. "Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office. She's running point on the case and called me directly. Uh, JJ, would you tell them we're ready to go?" he called over the seat.

"Right," JJ stood up from her chair far away from us. She had been staring out the window, thinking about something.

"Kate's starting to butt heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes," Hotch said to Rossi.

"Joyner, I know her," Morgan said. "She's a Brit, right?"

"Well, dual citizenship. Her father's British, her mother's American," Hotch corrected. "She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before coming to the Bureau."

"I heard she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass."

"I didn't think so," Hotch replied.

"You know her?" Emily asked.

"We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard."

"And she's good?" Rossi asked.

"I think we're lucky to have her."

" _And we're cleared for takeoff. Please take your seats_ ," our pilot said over the intercom.

I gathered my file and followed Emily and Morgan to buckle myself into one of the swiveling chairs.

* * *

The elevator door opened and we spilled out into the field office. A blonde woman (who looked alarmingly like Hotch's ex-wife) approached us, her brunette assistant jogging behind her.

"Is it just me or does she look exactly like Haley?" JJ muttered to Garcia behind me. I smirked to myself, having thought the same thing.

"Kate," Hotch said, meeting her halfway through the bullpen.

"Aaron. How've you been?" she asked in an accented voice.

"Well, thank you. Uh, this is my team. Kate Joyner, this is, uh, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Hunter McCarthy, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, and Spencer Reid," Hotch introduced.

"Thanks for being here," she said. "Anything that you need, just tell me. Please don't stand on protocol."

"What can you tell us about the city's surveillance system?" Garcia asked.

"Um, it's run by the NYPD. It's still in the infant stages. It's been rather controversial. American privacy laws," Kate said. "Um, but they've had some success."

"And I'll have complete access?"

"They're already expecting you. Shelley," Kate gestured for her assistant to take Garcia away.

"I'd like to get a map of the borough. Uh, I want to do a comprehensive geographical profile of the area in order to ascertain the unsub's mental map before it's clouded by our own linkage blindness," Reid said.

"I see you brought your own computer," said a gruff, older man. He and his younger partner had come up to the doctor's side.

"Detectives Brustin and Cooper," Kate pointed at the respective men. "I'll let you do the introductions."

"You caught the first shooting?" Rossi leaned over to get a better look.

"Uh, they've all been in different precincts," Cooper, the younger (and very attractive) one said. "It wasn't until the third murder that anyone even made the connection."

"I guess this is where we play nice and ask you what you need," Brustin said.

It wasn't hard to tell who played good cop and who played bad cop between the two of them.

Kate let out an awkward chuckle. "I'll let you all figure out what that is. I just ask that you run _everything_ back through me. It's been my experience that having one butt on the line is enough."

"Yes, ma'am," Brustin scoffed.

I noticed Cooper reach for his shield.

"Can I have a word with you in private?" Kate asked Hotch.

Emily and I exchanged glances with each other, then with JJ.

"Sure. Excuse me," Hotch stepped away with her.

"They, um, _liaised_ when she was at Scotland Yard," I muttered to the blonde.

"Of course," JJ nodded.

* * *

"Hey, so, uh, what's your partner's problem?" Reid asked Cooper once we split up. Rossi, JJ, and Morgan went to the latest crime scene with Brustin. Emily, Reid, and I stayed with Cooper so Reid could make his map.

"Uh, well…" Cooper looked over his shoulder. "Well, by the, uh, the fourth murder, the FBI was brought in. Good. We can use all the help we can get. But, uh, all of a sudden, she's taking meetings with the mayor," Cooper looked at Kate's office, "and calling in you all without us knowin' anything about it."

"We're only here to help," I said.

"Think of us as a resource," Emily told him.

"Okay," he nodded. "Profile me."

Emily gave him a look.

"What am I thinking?" he continued, a goofy smile on his face.

Emily laughed. "It's never gonna happen."

Cooper smirked, bouncing his eyebrows. "No offense, but we've had five murders. Hope it gets better than that."

I exchanged glances with Emily, watching him step away. "So cute, yet such a dick."

"Always the case," she shook her head.

* * *

"We're gonna need records over the last six months for any arrests on gun violence or gun possession in every borough except the ones where the shootings have taken place," Reid said once his map was complete.

"Uh, I don't get it," Cooper shifted his eyes to the doctor.

"He won't strike near where he lives," I told him.

"What makes you so sure?"

"It's anti-geographical profiling," Emily said.

"Now it's anti-geographical profiling?" Cooper raised his eyebrows high under his dark faux-hawk. "Eh, come on. Now you wonder why we're so skeptical?"

"This unsub's organized. He strikes at the same time of day. He knows where the cameras are. That means he's doing his own pre-surveillance," I put my hands on my hips.

"A need-motivated killer operates within his own comfort zone. An organized killer with some other motivation will make sure to strike _outside_ that zone," Reid explained.

"Not where he lives," Cooper nodded.

"Exactly," Emily said. "Unfortunately, that means that every other neighborhood in the city has a reason to be terrified."

* * *

Another person had been shot on a street corner. The killer left a death tarot card this time, à la the DC Snipers. I sat in the New York field office with Emily, Reid, and JJ, watching the video footage of the incident as Hotch, Kate, Rossi, and Morgan came up to us.

"What have we got?" Hotch asked.

"The latest shooting," JJ said. We watched as the assailant shot the man, dropped the card next to the body, and ran away

"This was the previous murder," Emily said, switching to the other video. "Okay, do you see anything weird here?"

"He sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other," Morgan said. "It's two entirely different demeanors."

"Six kills in, his behavior should be set," Rossi said over my shoulder. I felt my cheeks heat up in a way that they hadn't for a couple of weeks.

"That's not all, folks," I said before leaning closer to the computer. "Garcia, my love, are you still there?"

" _Would I ever leave you, dear Hunter? Okay, check it out. I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on the shootings where we have footage. Now, the first two are inconclusive, but the last two I found something_ tres _weird. Your calm, walking type—he is about six-foot-one. But your sprinter—he's, like, five-nine, five-ten tops._ "

"We've got more than one unsub," Hotch remarked.

"So, we have more than one unsub. What does that tell us?" Rossi stepped out in front of all of us.

"Most teams stick together. Uh, Ng and Lake, the Krays, Bittaker and Norris. They don't usually kill separately," Reid pointed out.

"Could be some kinda gang initiation," Morgan suggested.

"Well, gangs'll kill you if you encroach on their territory, not random people all over the city," Emily shook her head.

"I'll coordinate with the gang taskforce, make sure we have an overview by morning," JJ got off the desk she was sitting on and walked off.

"Do you think you have enough for a working profile?" Kate asked.

"Broad strokes," Rossi said.

"Dave, you and Reid talk to the agents here. Morgan, McCarthy, and Prentiss, brief the police when each shift comes on duty tomorrow," Hotch ordered.

"I think we should get out on the streets," Morgan protested.

"I brought you here to create a profile," Kate said, glancing at him. I guess she'd been copping an attitude with him because he was possibly going to be nominated to take over her position if she couldn't close this case.

"Which we can give in the morning and then they can share with the afternoon shift," he said.

"We've allocated every extra man we have. This is New York City. It's not like a _few_ more people is going to blanket the city."

"I understand it's a longshot," Morgan seemed to be holding back his temper, "but these guys, they hit at midday. We could target ingress and egress to particular neighborhoods." Kate looked annoyed. "Position _us_ near express stops. 14th, 42nd, 59th—"

"Morgan, it's not your call," Hotch interjected.

"I'd like to join you in the profile, if that's not stepping on your toes," Kate looked over at Rossi.

"No problem," he shook his head.

Morgan walked away in annoyance, but Hotch stayed back to watch the video again.

* * *

"Look at this," I rolled my eyes, finding a newspaper about the latest shooting in the lobby of the hotel we were staying in. I picked it up and handed it to Emily.

"Late edition doesn't miss a beat," she said.

Reid looked past the blonde in front of him and noticed something. "JJ."

She looked over her shoulder. I smiled at the person sitting in a comfy chair. I leaned over to Emily and we both murmured, " _LaMontagne_ ," imitating his thick accent.

"Will," JJ approached her boyfriend.

"Hey, took a shot and flew to DC, but it didn't work. I figured a train ride to New York was only a few more hours," Will drawled as we gathered around.

"Detective," Hotch shook his hand.

"I'm sorry for showing up like this. I know you're working," he said. "But, um…I can't stand you being on this case and me not being here—not with what's going on."

"Is there a problem?" Hotch asked.

JJ chuckled bitterly, turning around to face us. "I-I'm pregnant," she beamed.

"Oh my God, JJ!" Emily hugged her. "Congratulations!"

"Jennifer Jareau, you kept this a secret from us?" I wrapped her in my arms once Emily was done. "I'll never forgive you."

"Sorry," JJ muttered.

"I've asked JJ to marry me," Will added.

" _Will_ ," she turned to look at him.

"Well, we're working out some kinks," he said, making JJ laugh as she hugged Reid.

"We'll, uh, give you both some privacy," Hotch said, stepping away.

JJ called his name and followed him.

"I've been thinkin' of names," Will said. "If it's a boy, William LaMontagne III. If it's a girl, Jennifer Jareau, Jr."

"Please tell me you'll be more inventive than that," I snickered.

Will shrugged. "It's still pretty early. We'll come up with something."

* * *

"Okay, let's start with what we know," Morgan said. "With these unsubs, it is not personal. It's not about sex, it's not about greed."

"Which is why we think there's something bigger at play here. This isn't random. There has to be a motive," Emily said.

"Now, our first theory is that we're dealing with a team," Morgan added.

"In the case of the DC Snipers, there was actually one intended victim," I stepped forward. "John Muhammad wanted to kill his ex-wife, but he knew if he did, he'd be the prime suspect, so he created a spree in order to mask his primary motivation. Muhammad and Malvo also left a death card at one of their scenes, just like this unsub."

"We believe our unsubs have studied that case. They're opening a line of communication," Emily said.

"Hold on, so now we got these guys playing games just 'cause _you're_ here?" one of the detectives in the room sassed. Brustin chuckled in response.

"We're just saying the unsubs are sophisticated enough to study other crimes," Emily said.

"That doesn't answer the question," another detective said.

"Joe, easy," Cooper said. He was standing beside me in the room. "Hear 'em out."

"Hey, I got requests for gun permits up two hundred percent in my precinct. This whole city's about to go off. And we all need to deal with that," _Joe_ said.

"Hey, listen, you're right," Morgan came ambled closer to him. "If the card was left because of us, then yes, they _are_ playing games. But what that tells us is at least one of them has some intelligence."

"And like Agent Prentiss said, they know about other cases," I gestured to Emily. "They've also studied the placement of the surveillance systems well enough to avoid detection."

"Most teams have a dominant and submissive member," Emily said as she handed out laminated packets of gang information to the men in the crowd. "Because of the relative intelligence of these unsubs and the fact that they stick to a set time pattern, we believe at least one of them has a steady job."

"Like they said, we think there's something bigger at play here," Brustin said. "So talk to the people on your beats. See if something sparks. And pray this thing ain't random."

* * *

Garcia and the police officer in the tech room with her had discovered a potential shooter on a camera in the subway. They watched as the assailant shot a woman in the head and ran off. And the kicker—he was a different guy from the other two.

The next day, we were split up. I went with Emily and Cooper to patrol 59th Street and I've never felt more like chopped liver in my life. It seemed like the latter was trying to play the asshole love interest to my friend.

"So, uh, if we're undercover maybe we should, uh, you know, act like a couple," he said to her as we walked through the subway station.

"I'll play the third wheel, then," I rolled my eyes.

Emily laughed. "Are you still working this tired sexual tension angle?"

"I don't know, you're the fortune teller. You tell me," he said.

"You wanna know what profiling is, really?" Emily asked.

"Why do I have a feeling I'm gonna hear no matter what I say?"

"It's just noticing behavior."

"And I'm about to hear about mine. Is that the deal?" he stopped and stepped out in front of us.

"Okay. When we first met, when your partner was sarcastic and said, 'Yes, ma'am', you instinctively reached for your detective shield, as if you were protecting it. That tells me you don't like him disrespecting the chain of command. But you're also loyal, so you didn't say something to him. I'd say you were military, probably an officer. Praise in public, censure in private, right? You're right-handed, but you have two different colored pen marks on your left hand. I'd guess you have a toddler at home, just learning how to draw. You don't wear a ring. And you were quick to flirt with me. So you're happy to let people think you are a player," Emily said, making him chuckle. "But if I took you up on it, you would run for the hills because you love your wife and you would never actually cheat on her."

"Boom," I deadpanned, holding up a fist for Emily to bump with her own.

"Wow," Cooper looked impressed. "We might just solve this case yet."

Emily and I stepped past him, snickering to ourselves. Cooper followed us out of the station and we looked around the street for any suspicious activity. Suddenly, we heard a gunshot down a ways and looked over our shoulders.

"Garcia," I said into the comm. device in my sleeve.

" _I'm on it, I'm on it_ ," the analyst whimpered. " _Uh, 16_ _th_ _and Broadway. He's running east on 16_ _th_."

"He's headed our way," Emily said.

We darted off, turning a corner. A teenager clad in a black hooded sweatshirt noticed us and stopped. He turned and ran. We pulled out our weapons and rushed after him. Cooper and I were neck and neck, with Emily just barely behind us.

"MOVE! MOVE!" Cooper barked on the busy sidewalk. "GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

The street cleared up and I managed to sprint ahead of the detective, following the teen as he went down an alleyway. I stopped before it, seeing that the kid was standing there, gun at the ready. Next thing I knew, he had shot his gun through my shoulder. I fell to the ground just as he shot again, this time hitting Cooper. Clasping at the searing pain in my chest, I cried out. Cooper was next to me, his wound mirroring mine.

There were two more shots, but they both came from Emily's gun. I craned my neck upward and watched as she checked the vitals of the shooter, grabbing his weapon.

"Cooper! Hunter!" Emily came over to us, her sleeve up to her mouth. "Garcia! We've got two men down—and one of them is Hunter. 16th West of Union Square." She lowered her wrist and looked at Cooper. "Let me see. You're gonna be okay. Hunter, sweetie," she turned and touched my hand. I showed her the wound, biting back tears. "You'll be fine," she stroked my hair. I could see how glassy her eyes were. "Garcia, can you see us?! We have two men down!" Emily yelled into her wrist as a crowd gathered. "Stay with me, guys."

"Emily," I said, feeling my own blood gush between my fingers. "Find them."

"Shh, come on, Hunter. Save your strength," she said, covering both of our hands with her own to add pressure. "You're gonna be okay. Stay with me."

I tried to smile at her, but I was in so much pain. _This is what I get for being such a shit-heel_ , I thought.

"Y-You're my best friend," I choked out. "I-I love you."

"I love you too, Hunter," Emily said, letting a tear slide off her check and onto my face. "You're gonna make it."

* * *

 _Rossi and Reid sped over to the crime scene. He felt his heart racing in his chest as they got out of the Suburban and saw paramedics working on McCarthy and the detective by her side. Her stained blouse had been torn open, revealing a lacy brassiere caked in blood, the right strap ripped apart by the bullet._

 _He could barely stand to look at her tearful eyes struggling to stay open. But he got as close as he could to her, hoping beyond all hope that she'd be okay. That was his teammate. That was his protégé._

 _That was_ Hunter _._

 _Her chest heaved as she tried to breathe, her hands were clenched in pain. She shifted her eyes over to Rossi as she was getting lifted into the gurney and he could tell that she was trying to smile at him._

 _There was a pang in his chest and he wanted to accompany her in the ambulance. However, what he wanted more was to find out about the son of a bitch who hurt her and who he was working for. Rossi glanced over and saw Prentiss grab onto McCarthy's hand as she got carted away. She also checked on Cooper, who was being wheeled into another ambulance._

 _"Are you okay?" Morgan asked, coming up to Prentiss with JJ in tow. Rossi stood by the pool of blood on the sidewalk, listening in._

 _"Are they gonna make it?" JJ asked, her eyes glassy. "Is_ Hunter _gonna make it?"_

 _"I don't know," Prentiss choked out. "They both lost a lot of blood."_

 _Morgan cracked his neck, his face grave. "I'm gonna go with Mick," he said, rushing over to the ambulance to jump in before it was too late._

 _Rossi felt another pang at those words. He felt better that she wasn't alone, only he wished he had gone himself. He followed Reid over to the body of the shooter, who was barely clinging to life as more paramedics worked on him._

 _"He's not gonna live to tell us anything," Rossi said. And he couldn't say he was too upset._

 _"Any ID on him?" Reid asked._

 _"Nothing."_

 _"This is not good."_


	15. Mayhem

**I found myself** standing in a field. My body felt cold, so I wrapped my arms around myself. But no matter what I did, my body just got colder.

"Hunter?" whispered an unmistakable voice behind me.

I whipped around, tears in my eyes, and saw Cassandra Monroe standing behind me. Her long blonde curls were flowing freely around her glowing face. She was wearing a white sundress with nothing on her feet. Her pink lips spread into a smile and her large blue eyes were watery.

"Why are you here?" she asked, stepping closer to me. "It's not your time."

* * *

 _The second David Rossi arrived at the hotel, he turned his SUV around and raced over to the hospital. His gut had been wrenching all day. He couldn't stop thinking about McCarthy. Prentiss had gone to check up on her earlier that night, but came back saying that things weren't looking good for either her or Detective Cooper._

 _Rossi went inside the hospital, trying to remain calm as he went up to the front desk. He showed his credentials and said that he was her teammate. He was told that she was still in surgery, but that was all he was made privy to._

 _When he got to her floor, he found Morgan sitting on a couch, head in his hands. Rossi started feeling angry that not everyone was there waiting to hear that she had made it through. Prentiss had said that McCarthy wanted them to find the bastards responsible, which was what they were trying to do, but the young agent needed their support too._

 _"Have you heard anything?" Rossi asked, sitting beside Morgan on the couch._

 _"Nothing," Morgan looked up. "God, why did this shit have to happen to Mick? First Penelope, now her."_

 _Rossi sighed. "Have we heard anything from her family?"_

 _"Her parents are on their way. I don't know about her brothers, though."_

 _A surgeon came out of one of the operating rooms. She had a clipboard in her hand and was reading it as she walked towards them. Rossi and Morgan stood up immediately._

 _"Hunter McCarthy?" she looked at them._

 _"How is she?" Rossi asked._

 _"It was touch-and-go. She lost a lot of blood," the surgeon said with a frown._

 _Rossi felt his heart begin to sink. He prepared himself for the worst. Beside him, Morgan was taking deep breaths._

 _"We were, however, able to repair her injuries. She's still heavily sedated. You can see her when she wakes up."_

 _"Thank you," Rossi closed his eyes as the surgeon walked off. He had never felt this relieved in his life._

 _Morgan took another deep breath. But then something on the television screen caught his eye. "Rossi."_

 _David opened his eyes and watched the silent news report playing on the wall. There had been a car bomb explosion._

* * *

"I'm so sorry," I responded, reaching out to touch her. But my hand slipped through her arm. My tears began to fall.

"For what?" the fifteen year-old spirit asked.

"I couldn't s-save you," I wiped at my cheeks.

"Hunter," Cassandra shook her head. "There was nothing you could do."

"I could have t-tried harder."

"No, you couldn't have."

* * *

 _"Everything. Everything they've done so far has appeared to be something it's not," Rossi said angrily._

 _"I don't follow," Brustin said from the seat beside him in the field office._

 _"Uh, the seemingly random acts of murder, th-the attempt to hack into our security surveillance systems," Reid expanded._

 _"The suicide by cop to make us all believe that it was over," Prentiss added, pointing to the picture of the son of a bitch who shot McCarthy._

 _"Don't forget the death card telling us they know we're watching," JJ said._

 _"All diversions," Rossi clasped his hands together._

 _"To ensure our attention and an analysis of any given situation would then incorrectly inform our profile," Reid said._

 _"So the first responders were not the real targets?" Brustin pieced together._

 _"Hotch and Kate were a diversion too?" Prentiss replied in a horrified tone._

 _"For what?"_

 _"It's Morgan," JJ called over, a phone at her ear. "Hotch wants you guys over there now."_

 _"What do we tell Homeland Security?" Brustin asked as they packed up to head over to St. Barclay's Hospital. McCarthy and Brustin's partner were at Lenox Hill._

 _"Tell them if they love this city as much as you do to keep it locked down," Rossi thrust his suit jacket back on. "It's about to get hit."_

* * *

"Think of all the other people you've saved," Cassandra said, offering me a smile. "All the murders you've helped solve."

"I wish you were there with me," I said in an almost inaudible voice.

"I wish I were too," she said.

"I think of you every day."

"I know. I can feel it."

"Can I stay here?" I gulped. "With you?"

Cassandra's eyes closed for a moment. "As much as I want that…like I said, it's not your time."

"I don't care," I shook my head fervently.

"It was so good to see you again," Cassandra said. "I'll miss you."

* * *

 _Rossi stood by the window of the hospital room. McCarthy had been awake since around the time that Kate Joyner had been pronounced dead. Cooper made it through too. Prentiss had just left to visit him, as she was catching the flight back to Quantico._

 _Reid, Garcia, Morgan, JJ, and Hotch had come by the room earlier, checking up on their injured teammate before they left. Morgan was going to be driving Hotch back to Virginia, as the explosion had hurt his ear so much he wasn't clear to fly for a while. Rossi had made a similar offer to drive McCarthy back once she was released._

 _While the other agents had gone inside the hospital room to say hello, Rossi elected to stay back. He watched as an older woman sat on the edge of her bed, brushing out McCarthy's hair. The woman looked enough like Hunter for him to make the safe assumption she was her mother. Her father sat in one of the chairs next to the agent. He said something that made Hunter laugh. Rossi couldn't help but think how nice it was to see her genuinely smile._

 _"Hey," said a deep voice beside him._

 _Rossi looked over his shoulder and noticed that Eddie was standing at his elbow. "The other Agent McCarthy. How are you?"_

 _"Shitty," he nodded. "Never fun to hear that your sister's almost been killed. But she's…she's okay?"_

 _"Thank God," Rossi nodded, gesturing to her in the window. "Go see for yourself."_

 _"Don't mind if I do," Eddie clapped Rossi's shoulder. "Why don't you come in too? There's always room at the McCarthy table."_

 _"Oh, I don't want to impose. I see her all the time, you guys don't," Rossi held a hand up._

 _"I think it would mean a lot to her," Eddie muttered._

 _Rossi smiled in spite of himself. "Okay."_

 _The two men entered the room. McCarthy, who had been sitting up, beamed when she saw her brother. But when her green eyes found Rossi's, her cheeks became pink and she pursed her lips. Rossi smiled and leaned against the doorframe._

 _"How are you, Hunter?" Eddie stepped forward to kiss her on the forehead._

 _"Dandy," she sighed. Her mother began French braiding her hair in pigtails. "Thanks for coming. I heard the others couldn't make it."_

 _"Hi, Eddie," Mrs. McCarthy said._

 _"Mom," Eddie nodded. He shook his father's hand and sat next to him in a chair. "I, uh, brought you a guest." He pointed to Rossi._

 _"Hunter, is that_ him _?" Mrs. McCarthy whispered louder than she probably thought she did, cocking her head at the older agent in the room._

 _"Yeah," Hunter said, swallowing hard._

 _"David Rossi, nice to meet you," he nodded at her and then stepped forward to shake Mr. McCarthy's hand._

 _"Andrew McCarthy," the father said. Rossi wondered if he knew he shared a name with an actor._

 _"Elizabeth," the mother tied off one of the braids and shook his hand on her way around the edge of the bed to get to her daughter's other side. "Thank you for coming. We've all heard wonderful things."_

 _Rossi could see Hunter chewing on her lip, avoiding eye contact with him. "Well, you've raised a wonderful daughter."_

 _"Yeah, she's all right," Andrew reached out and squeezed one of his daughter's bent knees. She was sitting in the lotus position._

 _"How are you feeling, Hunter?" Rossi asked. He looked at her face. She was paler than usual. Gaunt. He felt a pang in his chest when she finally caught his eye._

 _She shrugged one shoulder, putting one of her hands over her wound. "I've been better."_

 _He nodded. "Does anyone want coffee? I'm buying," Rossi offered._

 _"No, no. You don't have to do that," Elizabeth crooned as she finished tying the other braid. "Stay here."_

 _"I don't mind. Really. You should have your quality time. Plus, Hunter will get three hours in the car with me once she's set to leave. Can't have her getting sick of me," he smiled down at her. One side of her mouth turned up._

 _"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," Eddie muttered, staring up at the ceiling._

 _Hunter shot her brother an angry glance. Rossi pretended not to notice when he offered yet again to buy the McCarthy family coffee. He managed to suppress his grin as he took their orders, letting it manifest when he left the hospital room._

* * *

"So Morgan drove off in an ambulance and jumped out just before it exploded?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm," Rossi nodded, holding my door open. I had just said goodbye to my parents and brother before they left for the airport.

"How dramatic," I rolled my eyes and grinned, sliding in. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, closing the door for me.

"Did you guys ever figure out who the terrorist cell was trying to kill in the hospital?" I asked once he got behind the wheel. I carefully slid under the seatbelt so that only the bottom strap was crossing my body.

"No," Rossi shook his head. "But we have reason to believe that the terror is over. It's just a shame that we lost Joyner."

I folded my hands together in my lap solemnly. I'd heard all about the SUV explosion that had ultimately claimed her life and injured Hotch.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Rossi glanced over at her as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Yeah," I nodded, feeling sleepy.

"Can you stop scaring the hell out of me?"

"You, uh…" I smiled at my lap, "you were scared?"

Rossi sighed. "I was afraid I'd lose you."

"Really?" I looked up at him.

"It's always been hard for me to let people in. I'm not the best at expressing my emotions. But Hunter, I need you to know that I care about you," he said, looking at me as he stopped at a red light.

I pursed my lips, trying to hold back my smile. "I care about you too."

"I mean it. It would've killed me if you hadn't made it."

I didn't really know how to respond. I felt my eyes start to well up. I stared over my bad shoulder out the window, hoping he wouldn't see just how happy his words made me.


	16. Minimal Loss

**I'd spent many** a case (notably, one where an Angel Maker groupie turned copycat in Ohio) with the lovely Penelope Garcia in her lair while recovering. Finally, a few months after that particular one, I was going to be allowed back in the field since my shoulder had healed up.

Emily and Reid had gone out to a Separatarian ranch/religious cult out in La Plata County, Colorado undercover to do an interview. A phone call had recently been made, saying that the leader of the sect had been sleeping with a fifteen year-old girl.

"Guys," a very pregnant JJ came into the bullpen with her remote.

"What's up?" I looked up from my desk as she turned on the TV to the news and immediately felt the bottom of my stomach fall out.

" _What is reportedly being called a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado Child Services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Separatarian Sect…_ " said the news reporter.

"JJ, that's not the ranch where Prentiss and Reid—?"

"They're still inside," JJ interrupted Morgan in a quiet voice.

He looked over his shoulder at me as I stood, and then he yelled, "HOTCH!" up towards our leader's office.

" _…Tactical Warrant Service Team into a forced retreat after losing a thirty minute gun battle…_ "

"The TV," I gulped once Hotch came out to the railing. Rossi was at his side. I held my arms around myself, looking at the latter, but he didn't meet my gaze. "Prentiss and Reid."

"… _No one knows for sure how many people are inside. It_ is _believed at least three of the Child Service members are still trapped within the compound…_ "

Phones began to ring nonstop.

"All right, that means we're the lead with hostage rescue and support," Hotch said. "Let's go."

* * *

" _…Turned deadly when the Colorado State Police Officers tried to serve a warrant. Colorado Attorney General Jim Wells says the reclusive cult has been the subject of a six month weapons investigation…_ " the male reporter said as we watched the feed on the jet.

"Six months. We didn't check?" Morgan asked.

I rubbed nervously at my throat from where I sat beside Morgan at the table. Rossi was directly across from me. I glanced at him, but he wouldn't look back yet again. I had noticed a change in his demeanor towards me since he'd driven me back to Quantico (specifically since I woke up from a nap on the ride down). Where I was beginning to warm up to him again, he was acting kind of…aloof. But I couldn't focus too much on that right now—Reid and Emily were in trouble.

"No, we checked," JJ said defensively from one of the swiveling seats. "I had ATF call Wells. He told ATF there were no pending state investigations. He lied."

"Why?" I furrowed my brow.

"Wells is challenging the governor in the next election. He thought that ATF was about to poach his big election-launching weapons bust. Now, i-it's clear he didn't know there were FBI agents there. He just thought the best time to serve a state warrant was when the kids were safe inside the school being interviewed," JJ told me.

"What do we know about this sect?" Rossi asked, glancing at the screen.

" _Liberty Ranch was founded in 1980 by libertarian Leo Kane_ ," Garcia said, appearing in a chat window over the paused news feed. " _He created it as a self-sustaining commune_."

"Libertarians believe that everyone has the right to do what they want as long as they aren't infringing on the rights of others," Morgan explained.

"But they aren't religious," I pointed out. "The sect clearly abandoned libertarian principles."

"Benjamin Cyrus, the current leader, introduced religion eight years ago when Kane left," Hotch said, looking up at me from his notepad.

"Garcia, what do we got on Cyrus?" Morgan asked.

" _Ah, we've got bupkis. It's like the guy never cast a shadow on the known universe. However, his predecessor, Leo Kane, is doing a seventeen year stretch at Deerfield Federal Prison. Apparently libertarians do not like paying taxes._ "

"Seventeen years for tax evasion?" Morgan responded skeptically.

" _Oh no, that would be two years for tax evasion and fifteen for going after four IRS agents with a Louisville slugger_ ," Garcia gestured with her hands to indicate someone beating someone with a bat.

"Let's have Kane brought to the scene. He's our best chance at finding out some idea of who we're dealing with," Hotch said just before Garcia disappeared.

* * *

I slid my aviators onto the top of my head after I exited our dusty SUV. We'd just arrived outside the Liberty Ranch and found the tented area where everyone else working on our rescue and support team was. I walked beside Rossi, feeling like he'd rather be anywhere else than next to me. Swallowing the knot in my throat, I followed Morgan

 _Am I overreacting to nothing?_ I asked myself. _Probably. But I really feel like he's giving me the coldest of shoulders._

I saw Hotch and Rossi talking quietly. I put my hands on my hips, clinging to my gray V-neck shirt. Morgan elbowed me in the ribs.

"Glad you're back in the field, Mick," he said.

"Same," I nodded. "I just wish my first case back in didn't have to be one like this."

"We'll get 'em back," Morgan assured me.

"I know."

"You're obviously not in charge—I can see that!" said a suited man, angrily coming down the rickety stairs to our level of the tent.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm under direct orders from the FBI," responded the man in coveralls coming down behind him.

"I'm the Attorney General of this state. I _demand_ to know why I wasn't told that the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Separatarian Ranch," Wells said.

"Aw, shit, here comes our boy," Morgan murmured under his breath at me as Hotch approached the AG.

"The only thing that you're in a position to demand is a lawyer," Hotch said.

"And boom goes the dynamite," I added, my hand over the side of my mouth. Sometimes Derek and I let our gallows humor out.

"Who the hell are you?" Wells asked.

"I'm Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief. I'm the guy who's gonna tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide."

" _Sizzle_ ," Morgan held up a fist.

"You can't talk to me like that," Wells shook his head.

"Get off my crime scene," Hotch stepped closer.

"Wrecked," I bumped Morgan's knuckles. We imitated an explosion when Wells scurried over to a government car and slid in the backseat.

* * *

"We call this the 'minimal loss scenario'," Rossi explained as we huddled with coveralls guy (Dan Torre) and some of his men in the command center inside of the tent. "Every person we get out is a life saved. We _won't_ save them all. All of us have to be prepared to accept that situation."

"Cults are structured like pyramids," Morgan said, stepping past Rossi to draw the shape on the whiteboard. "You got the leader at the top," he began labeling the pyramid. "Diehard believers below beneath. The biggest group, the base—followers." He circled that last word. "Women and children. These are the people we can save."

"The 'trickle, flow, gush' strategy is designed to get base followers out. First one or two. Then three or four. Then as many as we can as fast as we can, And if at any point it starts to go bad, we go in," Hotch said.

"The leaders are charismatic sociopaths who target those most susceptible to their seduction. They have the ability to see what each person needs and then they become that thing," I added, stepping out in front of Rossi, my hands in the back pockets of my tight jeans.

"We have to undermine their perception that we're an invading army laying siege to their home," Rossi stepped up beside me.

Torre glanced down at his coveralls. "We'll lose the fatigues. Rancher's clothes work for ya? Like we did at the Freemen standoff?"

"Perfect," Rossi looked back at some of the other men in the area. "Anything we can do to demilitarize the situation."

* * *

"Hello?" Rossi said into the speaker phone as we all watched. Hotch had assigned him to lead the hostage negotiation. I wasn't offended that he didn't pick me—why have the student when you can have the teacher.

" _You killed my mom and daddy_ ," said the voice of a little girl. " _Are you going to kill me too?_ "

"No one is gonna kill you, honey," Rossi replied.

" _This is Benjamin Cyrus, who am I talking to?_ " asked a raspy voice.

"David Rossi. I'm an FBI agent. We sent the state police away. There's just us and the local sheriff. All we wanna do is resolve this before anyone else gets hurt"

" _Then leave us alone._ "

"I'm afraid we can't do that, Benjamin. One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let's just stop this before things get worse. Please, just put down your guns and come out."

" _We're believers, Dave. We believe that God says what he means and means what he says. His laws don't depend on what state you live in._ "

Morgan and I exchanged glances.

"I have no issue with your beliefs," Rossi continued.

" _You don't, but the state does_."

"I can't answer for other people."

" _Oh, God will answer for everyone in the final battle I've foreseen._ "

"That's why I'm here—to make sure that this is not that battle."

" _We shall see._ "

"Now, the three Child Services workers…"

" _One of them is dead_."

The bottom of my stomach fell out and I began to tug on the tips of my French braids. God, I hoped it wasn't Emily or Reid.

" _It wasn't us._ "

"I need a name to inform the family," Rossi said with a sigh.

" _Her name was Nancy Lunde_."

I hated feeling relieved that someone else had died. But I couldn't help feeling that way in this situation.

"Okay. Now please, Benjamin, send out your wounded. I promise you they'll be well taken care of."

" _With enough supplies we can tend to our own_."

"Okay. I need a few hours to put it together. I'll bring them up myself at first light."

* * *

"They could take you hostage," Torre warned Rossi when we all met up in the command center after the call.

"I'm gonna confirm the kids, Prentiss, and Reid are okay," Rossi said, finally catching my eye, if only for a brief moment.

"Rossi, at least let me go with you," Morgan implored from his seat at the table across from Torre. They were setting up bugs.

"No. This is about building trust," Rossi pulled his Glock out and laid it on the table. "I go alone."

"I want the parabolic arc mics fixed on every window in that structure," Torre ordered over his shoulder.

"They won't pick up much, they have blinds on all the windows. Unless they're shouting, the glass won't vibrate enough for us to get an audio," one of his men pointed out as Rossi went to one of the boxes of supplies he was bringing Cyrus.

"Well, if they're not shouting, these bugs'll pick 'em up. At least until the batteries die," Torre muttered. "How familiar are Agents Prentiss and Reid with our playbook?"

"The BAU wrote the CIRG handbook," Hotch told him. "They'll know that we're trying to get ears in there at all times."

"Good. Let's hope they can get these people talking."

"They will," I nodded, folding my arms across my chest.

* * *

I found myself in the annoyingly familiar position of tossing and turning in bed. We were camping out in tents outside of the command center. On her back on the cot beside mine was a peaceful-looking JJ. She'd fallen asleep immediately, whereas I was having a tough time, as always.

Throwing the hood of my sweatshirt atop my head and slipping my feet into the flip-flops I always kept in my go-bag, I quietly ventured out into the night air. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep warm. My legs, clad only in a pair of running shorts, were cold, but they didn't bother me as much.

I stared up at the stars in the sky. Even though I didn't believe in an afterlife, even though I knew that my recent visions of Cassandra were just medically-induced hallucinations, I liked to think of her as being somewhere up there. At her funeral fourteen years prior, the priest had told us that one way to find solace in the wake of a loved one's death was to pick out a star in the sky and think of that as your person's star.

 _Miss you, girl_.

I heard a zipping sound nearby, but I didn't check to see who was coming out. I fiddled with the tip of one of my braids and felt a familiar hand on my left shoulder.

"McCarthy?" Rossi whispered.

"Hey," I said, still looking up at Cassandra's star.

"Everything okay?" he asked, removing his hand.

"Yeah, I'm just an insomniac is all," I said facetiously. I finally looked down and caught his eye. His graying hair was sticking up on one side. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"No, I can't really sleep either," he smoothed down his hair.

"Is, um, is everything okay?" I asked carefully. "I feel like I've been getting weird vibes since the drive from New York."

"Everything's fine," he sighed. But I could tell there was more.

"Did I do something weird in my sleep again?" I gulped in anticipation of his response.

Rossi paused. That was enough of an answer for me.

"Whatever I did or said, I sincerely apologize," I replied quickly, covering my mouth with my hands once I was finished.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he shook his head. "You didn't say anything bad. Nothing bad at all."

"What did I say then?"

He shook his head slowly. "Go to bed."

* * *

"Reid and Prentiss are okay," Rossi said, coming back into the command center after his trip to the ranch to drop off the supplies.

"What about Cyrus?" I asked.

"He's too _calm_ ," Rossi said as he grabbed his Glock. "It's-It's like he was waiting for this to happen. And how that it has, he feels vindicated."

"I got a signal, I'm getting a signal here," one of Torre's men reported to us. He was listening to the bugs. We all listened as the feed went on speaker.

" _We will be with Him soon_ ," Cyrus said. " _We have drank the poison together._ "

I felt my heart racing. All of those people dying… I wondered if Emily and Reid drank the poison too. I looked at Rossi, but his eyes were on Hotch.

" _Mothers…fathers…children…though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death we fear no evil. For thou are with us._ "

"This doesn't fit," Rossi said. "I looked him in the eye. He was calm, lucid."

"They're committing mass suicide," Hotch said as Torre came in.

"We don't know that for sure."

"Rossi, he just said it!" Morgan threw an arm up.

"We're ready to go," Torre said.

"If we go in there, people are gonna die!" Rossi exclaimed.

"People are already dying," Hotch replied, looking remarkably flustered.

I really hoped that Rossi was right.

" _And God will wipe the tears from their eyes and there will be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying,_ " Cyrus continued. " _And there will be no more pain, for all of the former things have passed away_."

"Jim Jones pulled the same stunt, didn't he?" I piped up.

"Exactly," Rossi pointed at me over his shoulder. "They did a test run just like this years before they did the real thing!"

"Prepare your men to go in," a very subdued Hotch said to Torre.

" _Be still. There was no poison_."

"Thank God," I dug the heel of my palm into one of my eyes.

"Dan," Hotch held his hand out to Torre.

" _Instead a test of faith. Because your adversary, the_ devil _, WALKETH ABOUT as a roaring lion! Choosing whom he may devour. Watch each other…for signs of weakness. You are your brother's keeper_."

Hotch shook his head. "Tell 'em to stand down."

"Yes sir. Nice call," Torre nodded at Rossi.

"Former sect leader's here," JJ stepped over.

"I can do it," I offered.

* * *

"Charles Mulgrew is his real name," Leo Kane told me in another part of the command center. He was an older gentlemen clad in his orange jumpsuit with a short gray beard hanging off his face. "Charles Mulgrew… His mother was five months pregnant when she showed up at our doorstep. He turned out to be one of the smart ones. Amazing memory that kid had. Anything he read he could repeat back to you—and he _did_. Mouthy little son of a bitch."

"Why'd he leave the ranch?" I folded my arms across my chest.

"When he was seventeen, a couple of our young girls came to me and said that he'd been…messing with them."

"You mean sexually?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do. Now don't get me wrong, I'm a libertarian, but…those little girls were too young for a seventeen year-old to be messing with."

I cracked my neck. "So you kicked him out for that?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did," Kane whispered. "His mother took him to Kentucky. Hadn't heard anything from him for years. And then when he finally showed up again, he said his mother had died, he found God, and he wanted to come home."

"And how does a kid like _that_ get rid of a man like _you_?" I asked.

"One day he came to me and said God told him that I should leave the ranch. I said, 'if God felt that way, God can tell me himself'. He put a gun to my head and said, 'he just did'," Kane looked deeply into my eyes with his cold baby blues. "Took me twenty years to build that ranch. I'll do anything I can to help you send that ungrateful son of a bitch straight to hell."

"Okay," I nodded. "I need a map."

* * *

" _Charles Mulgrew—convicted in Kentucky at the age of eighteen. Three counts, statutory rape_ ," Garcia said. We were sitting outside under the tent listening to her on the phone.

"So we need to talk to the warden," Morgan said, leaning against the table between Rossi and me.

" _Way ahead of you, honey. Mr. Kentucky Warden said that once inside, Mulgrew found religion, became a model citizen._ "

"Well, it's not that hard to behave when you're in protective custody the whole time," I bounced my eyebrows.

"General population's a rough place for a child molester," Hotch pointed out.

" _No, no, I don't think you guys understand. He was a_ model _citizen. This guy volunteered at the prison hospital—the AIDS ward—he was reading to prisoners dying of HIV_."

"Good stuff," Morgan said.

" _Damn straight. Now get our friends back, baby._ "

"Well, this makes things worse," Rossi commented once Garcia hung up.

"What? That he was a model citizen?" Morgan asked.

"That he's been to prison."

"He knows what happens to child molesters there," I said. Rossi nodded at me.

"If the current sexual allegations are true and he thinks we know it, he's not comin' outta there," Hotch shook his head.

"Then we have to make him think he's not going back," Rossi said.

"JJ, I need you to release a press statement saying that we have absolutely no evidence of sexual allegations," Hotch called over to the blonde.

"You need to see this," she sighed as she stepped towards us, tinkering with a portable TV. We all gathered around her. I could feel Rossi's body heat behind me.

" _Now well into its second day, the standoff at the Separatarian Sect Ranch has now been taken over by the FBI_ ," said the same reporter. " _There was much speculation in regard to hostages, but anonymous sources inside the State Attorney General's Office have told us there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the Separatarian Sect Ranch. Hostage negotiators say they are making headway with the sect's leadership and are hopeful for a positive outcome. There's still no word as to why an undercover FBI agent was sent in alone_."

I started cracking my knuckles. JJ clutched at her hair. Rossi was staring up at the sky. Morgan and Hotch were both pacing angrily. This was bad. But it was only going to get worse. One of Torre's men had gotten another signal from the bugs.

" _I told you not to put me in this position!_ " Cyrus hissed.

 _SMACK!_

Then I heard Emily grunt. I grimaced, closing my eyes.

"We gotta go in," Hotch said.

"We'd be risking the lives of everyone in there," Rossi told him.

" _Get up!_ " Cyrus howled.

Emily kept grunting. I heard another _SMACK!_ And then I heard the sound of glass shattering, as if she'd just been thrust into a mirror or a window.

"Proverbs _20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil._ "

I almost had to take my headphones off. I couldn't bear to hear Emily getting beaten by Cyrus and not being able to do anything about it.

" _I can take it_ ," she said bravely.

" _Oh, you can take it?_ "

 _SMACK!_

" _UNH!_ "

"Wai-Wait, listen, listen to what she's saying," Rossi held up a hand to Hotch.

" _I can take it_ ," Emily repeated.

"She's antagonizin' him," Morgan said angrily.

"She's not talking to him," I shook my head.

"She's talking to us," Hotch added. "She's telling us not to come in."

" _Pride comes before the fall_ ," Cyrus said.

 _THUD!_

" _Unh! Unh-h!_ "

I couldn't stand it anymore. I tore the headphones off my head and walked away to catch my breath. I took a lap around the tent, trying to get the sound of Emily's assault out of my mind, to no avail of course. When I came back, Rossi was calling Cyrus on the phone. I put on a headset, unsure if I could stomach the cult leader's raspy voice.

"How you doin' today, Ben?" Rossi asked casually.

" _I will release a child_ if _you tell me the identity of the FBI agent. I promise no harm will come to them from this point forward_ ," Cyrus offered.

"I can't give you that information."

" _I will send the child now_."

I looked at the camera monitor and saw a shot of a cute little blonde girl in a white dress stepping outside the front door of the ranch, fingers jammed in her mouth.

Hotch silently gestured at me and then pointed at Torre. I ripped the headphones off again and traded Hotch my Glock for a walkie talkie.

After strapping myself with a bulletproof vest, Torre drove me down to the ranch in a sheriff's truck. I carefully stepped out towards the girl, but she stopped in her tracks.

"Hey, it's okay, honey-bunny," I cooed. "Come to me. It's all right, sweetie."

She trotted over to me and I squatted down to pick her up, resting her on my hip.

"You're safe now," I stroked her hair with one hand. I pulled out my walkie. "Got her, Hotch," I said, heading over to the truck.

The little girl clung to me, her forehead buried in my sore shoulder. I repositioned her over my chest as I got in the vehicle. She kept her arms around my neck, straddling my lap.

"You're okay, girlfriend," I stroked her back.

"I miss my mommy and daddy," she said as Torre started the truck up.

I swallowed yet another lump in my throat, cradling the girl to my body.

* * *

I watched the monitor as a bunch of people exited the ranch with their belongings. I'd gotten back to the tent in time to hear about how Cyrus had told those who failed his loyalty test to leave. He called Rossi on the phone.

" _We will surrender tomorrow at noon_ ," Cyrus told him. " _I want the press there to ensure that we're treated fairly. We'll discuss the details in our seven AM call. I'll see ya then, Dave._ "

"I look forward to it," Rossi said.

" _Oh, and one more thing. Could you send some food in?_ "

"Sure. What would you like?"

" _Fried chicken. All the fixin's_."

"You got it," Rossi said before Cyrus hung up.

" _I don't understand_ ," said whom I assumed to be Cyrus' right-hand man over the bug. " _Why did you let them go?_ "

" _They weren't prepared to do what needs to be done_ ," Reid said. He was still undercover.

" _You're not one of us_ ," right-hand man snapped. " _You don't know what it takes to be prepared._ "

" _Listen to him,_ " Cyrus interjected. " _Tell him_."

" _They failed the test. They-They had a chance to prove their faith when Cyrus told them that they'd sacrifice themselves for God, but instead they showed they weren't worthy,_ " Reid explained. " _That's why he wants the media to bear witness to your_ true _final act of sacrifice._ "

" _How do you know that?_ " right-hand man asked.

" _I'm always looking for signs of things to come._ "

"Reid's talking to us," Rossi looked up from his chair at Hotch. "He wants a sign when we're coming in. He's telling us this is it. Time has run out," Rossi put his headphones down and stood up. "We've gotta go in."

* * *

"Drugging the food is not an option because of the children," Hotch said in the command central that night as Torre's men prepared the fried chicken dinners. "We have to go in."

"Best time to hit 'em is when they're the least mentally prepared," Rossi said, looking up at me. He was in a chair while I was sitting on the counter across from him.

"Devil's hour—three AM," I nodded. "Biorhythms are at their low point then."

"We need a diversion. Something that plays into his expectations," Morgan said.

"Cyrus brought up Waco," Torre said. I hadn't been around for that conversation, I guess.

"Right," Rossi said.

"I know exactly how to use that. We need some Humvees," Torre got up from the counter he was leaning against and walked off to make a phone call.

"The plan depends on Reid and Prentiss separating the diehards from the followers," Hotch said at the whiteboard.

"And delaying Cyrus' diehards from reacting to our assault," Morgan added.

"No, that's not my main concern. Reid and Prentiss know what they need to do," Hotch responded.

"So what is your concern?" Morgan asked.

"Letting them know when we're coming," Hotch said. "The whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at three AM."

"Come on, guys, quick. We need to get those bugs in the boxes before it gets too cold," Torre said to his men.

Hotch grabbed one of those thin discs that keep food in to-go boxes hot. He brandished it to us. "Perfect."

Morgan came up and clapped Hotch on the shoulder as he wrote on the disc with a marker. "Let's hope it's just that easy."

* * *

As three AM neared, we strapped on our vests and weapons together in silence, each of us hoping that we'd be able to get as many people out as possible—especially Reid and Emily. I looked up and found Cassandra's star before we piled into the Humvees and slowly made our way down to the ranch.

Gunshots started firing into the air. I could faintly see a man on the front steps of the ranch and I assumed he was Benjamin Cyrus.

Rossi, Morgan, and I went in through one of the back tunnels, following the tactical team before us. I felt a jolt of bittersweet happiness when I saw the bloodstained dark-haired woman turning a corner, leading a blonde woman and her teenage daughter through.

"Emily, Emily! Are you all right?" I asked, rushing over to her.

"They've wired explosives," she said, grabbing onto my hand.

The blonde lady started shepherding the rest of the women and children through.

"Where's Reid?" Morgan asked Emily.

"He's in the chapel with Cyrus," she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.

"We've gotta get you out of here," Rossi said.

"No, we've gotta get Reid!" she protested.

"Prentiss, I will get Reid," Morgan assured her. "Get out of here. Get to safety."

"Go with her, McCarthy," Rossi told me, cocking his head towards the exit. "We can handle it."

I nodded, my eyes feeling misty. But before I could direct her anywhere, the blonde woman and her daughter started arguing. The daughter yelled something about her "husband" and ran off. I tugged at Emily's hand as Morgan started to follow the girl.

We went outside as fast as Emily could manage. Her grasp on my hand was so tight, but I didn't mind at all. I was just glad she was alive.

"Come on, Emily," I said, following the other women and children as we got to safety.

"Where's the rest of them?" she whimpered, looking over her shoulder.

"There's Rossi," I said, noticing him as he led the reluctant blonde lady outside. "I-I don't know about the others."

"They have to get out of there," Emily said.

And the next thing we knew, there was an explosion in the chapel. I pushed Emily in front of me, trying to protect her as best I could from the blast. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked to see Rossi had caught up to us.

"Reid! Morgan!" Emily yelled at the burning building as we went to stare at it, her arm gingerly around my waist. "Reid…Morgan…?"

"We've gotta go," I choked out, trying not to think of the worst.

But then two figures appeared out of the smoke. Morgan and Reid were coughing, stumbling over the rubble. I felt beyond relieved.

"We're okay!" Morgan called out to us.

"Oh, God," Emily wrapped her arms around me and I carefully held her for a moment. "Aah," she grunted as we stepped up towards them.

"Don't ever scare us like that again," I said, pulling Morgan into a hug, just as Emily did Reid.

"I'll try not to, Mick," Derek said, lifting me off my feet for a second.

When he set me down, I turned to Reid and hugged him too. We weren't the closest on the team, but I was overjoyed that he was okay.

The four of us stepped down onto the grass, where Rossi and Hotch were standing. They were staring at the blonde woman, who was crying. Reid, Morgan, and I followed Rossi and Hotch as they walked past her. I looked over my shoulder, noticing that Emily was standing in front of her. I felt for the woman, knowing that her daughter must have been one of the casualties.


	17. Shenanigans

**I chased after** Floyd Hansen with Morgan and Hotch. The creep ran a roadside motel in Nevada and had a penchant for kidnapping couples, psychologically torturing them, raping the wives, and killing them before putting them in cars postmortem and letting them get hit by tractor trailer trucks in the middle of the night. We'd just saved his latest victims, but Hansen was almost literally one step ahead of us.

Ducking under trees, we tried to catch up with the serial killer, but I guess it's a good thing we couldn't. He ran out into the road and was met with a blaring horn of another truck. Morgan swung his arm out to keep us from getting hit. Only Hansen wasn't spared.

The truck tried to stop and we ran out behind it, watching as his body tumbled under each of the wheels, rolling on the pavement until he stopped lifelessly on his stomach. I took a few careful steps towards him, erring on the side of caution even though I was pretty sure he was dead. As I got closer, I saw his eyes open and blood pooling out from a wound on his head.

"I think this is about as poetic as justice gets," I sighed, clapping Morgan and Hotch on the shoulders when they came to my side.

We went back to the Crest Cottages, where Hansen's terror took place. Ian Corbin, one of the victims was getting carted off into an ambulance. His wife, Abby, was cuddled up to him, thankful that their nightmare was over and that they'd gotten out of it alive.

"Well, roadside motels definitely go on my list," Emily said, turning to look at Rossi and Reid who were leaning against one of the Suburbans. The latter was giving her a confused look. "Of things to never do again," she elaborated.

"You have a list?" Reid asked.

"You don't?" I smirked, ripping off my vest as I approached my teammates.

Morgan came up to my elbow, "It's going to take a while to get all of this cleaned up."

"Well, it's gonna take a hell of a lot longer for that couple to recover," Emily said.

"I guess this isn't the best time to invite everyone from the team to my cabin in a couple weekends," Rossi said, glancing up at me.

"You waited until _now_ to ask us?" Emily deadpanned.

"We've had one hell of a bad year. I think it would do us some good to have a little fun," he winked at me. "Think about it."

I watched as he stepped over to Hotch, who was standing off to the side. I cocked my head, trying to hide the smile that came with the butterflies in my stomach.

"We going or what?" Morgan asked. "'Cause I think I'm in. I bet that cabin'll be _bangin'_."

"Oh, I'll definitely be there," Emily nodded.

"I'm in too," Reid said.

"And we all know Mick's answer," Morgan tugged on one of my braids. "She wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Would you stop?" I grinned, elbowing him in the ribs. He was right, of course.

* * *

"I swear to God, Derek Morgan, if you splash me, I will murder you in cold blood," I muttered, wading in the cool waters on the edge of the cabin.

"Yeah, well, if you tip me over, I'll huff some paint thinner and hit you over the head with a bowling trophy, Hunter McCarthy," Morgan whispered in my ear, referring to the Highway 99 Killer we'd just investigated.

I snickered, easing myself into the blue kayak. I took my paddle and rowed my way ahead. I turned to watch Morgan struggle, trying not to laugh too hard as he almost fell in

"You can do it, Derek!" little Jack Hotchner cheered from the dock. He was sitting atop his father's shoulders.

In fact, it was by Jack's insistence that Morgan and I got in these kayaks in the first place. We'd been busy playing outdoor games with him on this unseasonably warm October day. After Morgan tossed him a few footballs and Rossi passed a soccer ball with him, he begged to see us do a "boat race". Having summered on the lake multiple times growing up, kayaking was almost second nature to me, so I gladly obliged.

"You've got this, babycakes," Garcia added.

"You're acting like you've never done this before," I grinned.

"It's because I _haven't_ ," Morgan hissed through gritted teeth.

"Stay low," I suggested, cupping my mouth with my hand.

I let myself drift over to the dock and held into the edge of it, waiting for Morgan to get in. Once he settled into the kayak, he came over to me and we figured out our starting place.

"ON YOUR MARKS," Hotch yelled over at us. "GET SET!"

"GOOOOO!" Jack hollered.

I dipped one side of my paddle into the water and jetted ahead. There was a tree branch sticking out of the water a few yards ahead and our goal was to go around it, then get back to the starting point, make it to the edge of the water, pull our kayaks all the way out onto the grass, and be the first to take off our lifejackets. I was only worried based on the physicality of the race—Morgan's enormous biceps were sure to help propel himself.

Sure enough, he got ahead of me, but when it came to the turn, he was stumped. I dug my paddle into the water, using it as a rudder to turn my kayak around him.

"How the hell are you doin' that, Mick?!" Morgan called out as I left him in my wake.

I smirked to myself behind my aviators, paddling my hardest towards the dock, where my team was cheering me on.

"YEAH, HUNTER LYNN!" Emily shrieked. "YOU'VE GOT THIS!"

"BRING IT HOME, McCARTHY!" Hotch clapped.

I carefully stepped out of the kayak once I reached the edge of the water. I glanced over my shoulder as I dragged the vessel out onto the lawn, seeing Morgan finally speeding over. He'd just gotten past the dock when I unbuckled my lifejacket and tossed it on the ground.

"YEEEEEAAAAHHHH!" everyone cheered, getting off the dock.

Emily ran over and we jumped up in the air, bumping hips. Laughing, we spun each other around in circles, then stopped to watch Morgan stumble his way out of his kayak. He looked…not embarrassed—more like annoyed that someone had beat him at a physical challenge.

"It was just a stupid competition anyway," he said, pulling the kayak out and placing his paddle next to mine.

"Oh, don't be a sore loser," I grinned, shaking his hand when he came over.

Rossi stepped between us, grabbed onto my wrist, and raised our hands into the sky. "The victor!"

Our team cheered again, then Jack, who had been let down from Hotch's shoulders, scurried over and jumped on me. Once Rossi let go of my wrist and stepped away, I picked up the little boy and sat him on my hip.

"Good job, Huntie," he said in my ear.

"Thanks, cutie," I responded, kissing his forehead five times in rapid succession.

"Ew, cooties!" Jack rubbed at his forehead and wriggled. I let him down with a chuckle and turned to Morgan.

"Hey, man, if it makes you feel better, you literally chased an unsub on a moving train. I probably couldn't do that if I _tried_ ," I said, clapping his shoulder. "Let me have this one moment."

Morgan looked up at me sheepishly. "All right. Congratulations, Mick."

* * *

"So, Rossi, when are we invited to your real house?" Morgan asked as we sat at the dinner table.

"First of all, it's not a house, it's a _mansion_. Second of all, _never_ ," Rossi took a sip from his wine glass at the head of the table.

Hotch had just taken Jack to get ready for bed. The boy was exhausted from our fun day. JJ, who was about to go on maternity leave very soon, had also gone to lay down after eating two full plates of Rossi's fine Italian dining. Had I been wearing actual pants instead of basketball shorts, I probably would have had to unbutton them to be comfortable.

"Delicious spread, sir," Garcia raised her glass to him. "You'll have to teach me to cook some time."

"Of course," Rossi bowed his head.

"This was probably one of the best meals I've ever had," Emily said, rubbing her stomach.

"I second that," I said, raising my glass as well.

" _Grazie, miei bellezze_ ," he beamed at all of us, ending on me. I was sitting the closest to him and I found it hard to hide my smile from him.

"I have no idea what you said, but you're welcome," Garcia joked.

"U-Uh, he said, 'Thank you, my beauties'," Reid explained.

"Thanks, Doc," Emily deadpanned.

"My man's still got it," Morgan grinned at Rossi.

I downed the rest of my wine and smiled at my lap. I knew he wasn't _really_ flirting with us, but it felt nice to be called a "beauty". Especially in another language.

Especially in _Italian_.

* * *

I was sharing a room with Emily. She had fallen asleep over an hour ago, her back turned to me on her side of the queen-sized bed. A deep sleeper, she didn't stir when I crawled out from under the covers. I crept over to the window and looked out into the darkness.

A figure was standing out by the water, the dock lights shining on him. Three guesses who it was. I took a deep breath, considering whether or not I should go out and speak to him or try to fall back asleep.

Next thing I knew, I was throwing a sweatshirt on over my tee and making my way out into the dark hallway. When I reached the front door, I slipped into my flip-flops and exited the cabin as quietly as I could. By the time I reached the dock, Rossi was sitting down on the wood, dipping his feet in the water. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.

"We have to stop meeting like this," I said, stepping onto the catwalk to get to his side.

"Morning," he nodded over his shoulder.

I smiled, stepping out of my sandals, and plopped down close beside him. The night air was cold against my bare legs, but it felt refreshing in a way. The water was even colder on my toes.

"They say misery loves company, but I think insomnia does as well," Rossi nodded. He was holding onto both of his knees.

"Guess so," I said, making circles in the surface of the water with my right foot.

We were silent for a moment. I was about to apologize for interrupting his thoughts, but then he spoke up.

"When I was driving you home from New York, you fell asleep before we even got to New Jersey," he started, gazing out into the distance. "And you started talking. At first it was just nonsense—'Give me back my sandwich, Ricky', 'Morgan, you're such an asshole sometimes,' stuff like that. And then you turned your head to me…and you said something I'll never forget."

I felt my face start to heat up. I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, nervous of what was to come. "What was it?" I whispered, turning to look at him.

"You said, 'David, I want you. I want you so badly it hurts'."

I heaved a great sigh and keeled over, holding my head in my hands. How the hell was I supposed to respond to that? What could I say to defuse that situation?

"Now, of course, I thought I should take that with a little more than just a grain of salt at first. But you kept repeating it over and over. And it felt real, Hunter. 'I want you so badly it hurts'…"

"Fuck," I sat up, smoothing my hair back on the top of my head. Pressure kept building on my chest. My face was unbearably hot.

"And I found those words interesting because I happen to feel the same way."

It took me a second to understand what Rossi had just said.

"Wait, _what_?" I snapped my eyes over to him, but he kept his eyes focused on the water ahead of us. "D-Did you just…?"

"That's why you were getting those _weird vibes_ ," he said. "I felt conflicted. The teammate in me knew that it would be a bad idea to entertain that notion. But the part of me that lies in bed at night thinking about the gorgeous brunette who likes to sit next to him was…ecstatic."

My entire body was erupting in butterflies. I couldn't believe a single word that was coming out of his mouth. When did good things like this ever start happening to me?

"I…can't exactly say that I understand the attraction on your side of the equation," he said, finally looking into my eyes. "I'm fifty-three. You're not even thirty yet."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," I shrugged. "I've always admired you, though. I was so bummed to find out that you'd stopped teaching the hostage negotiation classes by the time I got to the Academy.

"I, uh," I chuckled, "I remember hoping when I got my book signed by you that I'd say or do something to catch your eye and then you'd want to take me out for coffee or something and I'd become…friends with you, at the very least. But you barely even looked up. You just told me you liked my name on a girl and moved on."

"Sorry," Rossi smiled.

"No, it's fine. It was a dumb goal to have in mind," I snickered. "When you came back to the BAU, I was so excited, but I wanted to play it cool. That's a hard thing to do when you wear your heart on your sleeve like me, I guess."

"You had me fooled for a little while," he cocked his head. "Sometimes you were a little less than subtle."

I blushed and pursed my lips. "Eddie told me I was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher. He had only seen us interact that one time in Boston at that point."

Rossi kept smiling and shook his head. "I like you a lot, Hunter."

"I like you a lot too," I said, trying to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through my veins.

"I would love to pursue a relationship with you, but again, I'm conflicted. I know we'd have to go through Strauss or HR, and in the best case scenario, they'd separate us," Rossi said.

"Part of me doesn't care," I replied, looking into his eyes.

"Oh, _all_ of me doesn't care about the fraternization rules," he smirked. "But I know that you're really in your element in the BAU. I can't with good conscience be the reason you get switched out."

I nodded solemnly. Of course they'd move _me_ out of the two of us. Rossi had seniority over me. I'd probably be sent back to Crisis Negotiations.

"That's why I have an idea," he suggested. "It's tricky, but maybe we should try to keep this as quiet as possible. If we can show that we'd be able to work together with all of this, maybe they'll let us stay together when we go public."

I gulped and gripped my thighs. "That's one hell of a secret to keep."

"It's the only way I can see it working out for now," he took one of his hands off his knee and covered mine with it.

I looked down at our appendages, feeling a jolt of happiness. I heaved another sigh, turning my hand over so I could lace our fingers together. I couldn't believe that I was actually holding hands with David Rossi. Hell, I couldn't believe this entire _conversation_ was happening.

"It's not ideal, I know," he said. "But I think we can do it."

"Okay," I nodded. "Let's do it."

We sat together in silence for a while. Just in case someone might have been staring out their window at us, we tried to keep our hands out of sight. David even hooked his ankle around mine above the water.

When fatigue began to hit, we stood up and walked off the dock. I could feel his eyes on me as I crossed the catwalk onto the lawn. We stepped out into the shadow cast by the large cabin and that's when he grabbed onto my hand once again. He pulled me closer, holding me tight against his chest. I melted into him and felt that same feeling of ' _this is so right_ ' as I did so many months ago. I threw my arms around his neck, feeling his hands on my back, pressing me closer to him.

"At risk of sounding cliché," he murmured into my hair, "I've been wanting to do this for a long time."

I smiled, feeling him pull away just a little so he could put a hand on my cheek. He leaned down and softly kissed my lips. He put his forehead against mine, but I wasn't satisfied. I found his lips with mine again, cradling his head in my hands. He took a step forward, not once breaking our kiss, and pinned me against the wall of his cabin.

"We should go to bed," he murmured once we separated again. "I don't think I'll be able to control myself if I'm left alone with you for one more minute."

* * *

 **Yaaaay, it finally happened!**


	18. The Instincts

**"You sure it's** him?"

My eyes snapped over to the couch on the jet. For once, someone was talking in their sleep and it wasn't me.

"I just wan-I just wanna make sure," Reid continued.

Across the jet, Emily cocked an eyebrow and exchanged glances with me.

"There's something in here," Reid murmured. His brow furrowed and his eyes were shut tightly. He must have been having a bad dream. "What's that baby doing here?"

I heard Emily snicker and I couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

"J-JJ can't let her baby be at a crime scene."

"Reid," David said sharply from his seat beside him on the couch.

"JJ," the doctor mumbled.

" _Reid_ ," David repeated, finally stirring Reid from his slumber.

Morgan snickered beside me as the gangly agent sat up and opened his eyes. Morgan and I were sitting on the wooden bar across from the couch, our backs curved against the hull of the jet. Seated next to Hotch with their seats swiveled to face everyone else was Emily, also laughing at the situation. A _very_ pregnant JJ was in the other swivel seat, next to David. She had just introduced us to her soon-to-be replacement last week—a young woman whom Derek had _briefly_ met before and refused to give more details about.

I couldn't exactly blame him for being secretive, though.

It was a little more difficult to hide my new relationship with David than I anticipated. The insides of my lips were sore from trying to bite my smiles down. I had to curb my excitement whenever he walked into a room. I would avoid making eye contact with him, avoid striking up a conversation with him. If I could help it, I wouldn't even sit next to him.

But I felt like a teenager in her first relationship. I wanted to touch him, kiss him, tell everyone I knew about him. No one knew about our relationship, though—not even my family. The person I felt the worst about not telling, however, was Emily. She truly was my best friend. And if I were embroiled in a secret dalliance with anyone else, she would be the first to know.

It wasn't that I couldn't trust her. We just needed to keep it under wraps to prove that we would be able to work together without issue. It was a risky idea and we could have gotten into so much trouble, so I hoped it would all be worth it in the long run.

"Sorry, I was dreaming," Reid said, adjusting the case file in his lap.

"Ha, no kidding," Emily chuckled.

Reid sighed and rubbed at his eye. "We found a…a six year-old boy who had been abused and stabbed." Then he gestured to JJ, whose hand was resting on her bump. "Your baby was at the crime scene. I was trying to-trying to get him outta there." He looked into her eyes. "Sorry," he added, opening up his file.

"It's okay?" she said awkwardly.

"You know, Reid, simple dream analysis—if there's a baby in your dreams, that baby's actually you," Morgan offered.

"I don't believe in dream analysis," Reid responded.

"I dunno, it makes sense," Hotch ventured. "The case we're working on and the case in your dream both involve children. Maybe your subconscious is telling you you want to sit this one out."

"I don't," Reid said with a defensive tone.

"Well, maybe you're just stressed out about going home to Las Vegas. Did you tell your mom you're coming?" Emily wondered.

"Why aren't we reviewing the case file?" Reid asked slowly. His mother was always a sensitive topic.

"I don't know, maybe because _someone_ fell asleep on the jet," I cocked an eyebrow at him. I heard Emily snicker and saw David smirk at the younger agent.

Reid conceded with a sheepish grin, looking down at his file.

"All right, let's start from the beginning one more time," Hotch said as we all opened our manila folders.

"This is Ethan Hayes, he was five," JJ held up a photograph of the young boy and passed it to Emily. "Two weeks ago he was abducted out of his own front yard."

"Where were his parents?" Reid asked.

"His mom just ran inside to grab her purse. When she came back, he was gone. She wasn't away for more than a minute or two. Police found his body exactly one week later in the desert. Uh, he was in a new change of clothes. His nails were clipped. His hair was combed," JJ waved a hand.

"That's a lot of remorse," David mused.

"No sign of sexual assault," I said, looking at my file. "The medical report suggests he was smothered. Unsub could see this death as merciful." I felt the knot in my throat that usually appeared in cases about children.

"Who's the new boy?" Emily asked.

"Uh, Michael Bridges," JJ handed her another photo. "Yesterday he set out to walk by himself to a friend's house a block away. He never showed up."

"Are we sure these cases are even connected?" Reid asked.

"The unsub called each of the families," JJ told him.

"But no ransom demand," David looked at her.

"It was more like taunts. He's telling them it's _their_ fault that their child was taken," JJ explained. I could tell this case was going to get to her especially.

"Okay, so we have an unsub who shows remorse and then projects his own guilt onto the victims' parents," Morgan said.

"And if we're lucky, six days to find the boy before he's killed," Hotch added.

* * *

"There was no bruising around his neck or face," the medical examiner said after he pulled out the drawer where Ethan Hayes lay underneath a sheet. "I'm guessing he used a pillow."

Hotch and JJ had gone to meet Michael Bridges' parents, while Emily and David went to the desert where Ethan's body had been found, leaving Reid, Morgan, and I to go visit the body. The only good thing about this was that the examiner's room was cold, unlike the sweltering Nevada heat outside. I could feel the sweat collecting at the small of my back under my light blue blouse.

"Was there any sign of a struggle?" Reid asked as Morgan took a peek under the sheet.

"No, but he would've been extremely weak," the ME told us.

"Why's that?" Morgan asked.

"This is where it gets weird," the ME started. "He was noticeably thin and both his stomach and intestines were completely empty."

"He was being starved?" I furrowed my brow.

"It seems that way."

"Okay, so what's the weird part?" Morgan wondered.

"I wanted to determine if malnutrition played a part in his death, so I looked for evidence of starvation ketosis by analyzing the sub vitreous humor—the squishy part of the eyeball—and I couldn't find any ketone bodies there."

"Meaning?" I cocked my head.

"He was getting nutrients somehow," Reid supplied, glancing at me.

"Through an IV?" Morgan asked.

"There were no marks to indicate that," the ME shook his head.

"Any idea what else it could be?" Reid asked him.

"Honestly, I have no idea."

* * *

"May I speak with Michael?" the blonde woman said into the phone receiver as Reid, Morgan, and I entered the house.

Hotch held up his hand, signaling for us to be quiet as Morgan shut the door. He and JJ had stood with Michael's parents, Amy and Craig, as his mother spoke on the phone with the unsub. I had no doubt that Garcia was tracing the call from her office in Quantico.

Amy was silent for a moment. I couldn't hear what the unsub was saying, but I could faintly hear that his voice was being digitally altered. She lowered the phone after the unsub hung up on her. Amy looked down at her feet. In this case, she was the stoic parent and Craig was the more emotional one, but I could tell, even from the door, that she was upset.

"Garcia, anything?" Hotch asked.

" _It looks to be a disposable cell phone_ ," she said. " _I couldn't triangulate the call, but it did bounce off not one but two towers_."

"Meaning?"

Reid, Morgan, and I approached the couch, standing behind it. I shoved my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and chewed on my lip.

" _I know he's mobile and I know he's moving within the Las Vegas limits. He didn't travel outside the city_."

Amy looked over at Craig. She didn't seem impressed.

"It's just a start," Hotch said gently. "Like I said, the more he talks, the more we'll learn about him."

JJ turned around and noticed us. "Uh," she tapped Amy's arm to direct her attention, "these are agents Morgan, Reid, and McCarthy. They'll be here all night just in case he calls back."

"I need to lie down," Amy responded.

"Of course," Hotch muttered as she stepped past Reid.

"You should go with her," JJ instructed Craig.

"Yeah," he whispered, reluctantly following his wife. As with most parents of abducted children, there was tension between them.

"What did you find out from the medical examiner?" Hotch asked softly, watching to see Craig go out of earshot.

"We think that he's starving them," Reid said in a loud whisper.

"But that doesn't fit with the care he takes with the bodies. Starvation would be a form of torture."

"There's no sexual assault," I reminded him.

"The torture could be a substitute for the sex act," Morgan added.

"I'll coordinate with Rossi and Prentiss," Hotch nodded. "We'll call you if there's anything new."

* * *

"You should try to get a little shut-eye," Morgan told me. He and I were awake while Reid slept on the couch. The three of us were taking shifts, in case the unsub called again at any point.

"Nah, I'm good," I whispered, pacing across the living room with my arms folded across my chest. "I don't sleep very much."

"I would kill to be at the hotel right now," Morgan interlocked his fingers and rested them on top of his head. "I bet Prentiss is kicking Hotch's ass at Texas Hold 'Em right now. I bet JJ's at the spa…"

"It's the middle of the night," I gave him a look.

"It's Las Vegas," he fired back.

"Right," I rolled my eyes.

"Wanna know what I bet Rossi's up to right now?"

My eyes flashed over to him. Morgan was giving me a shit-eating grin.

"I bet he's got a woman on each arm and I bet he's wining and dining 'em and then they're gonna go up to his room and—"

"Morgan, we're on a case," I snapped.

"Ooh, you did _not_ like that one, did you, Mick?" he smirked.

I gave him another look.

"Don't worry, girl. I know your secret."

I was thankful it was dark in the living room. My cheeks were bright red. My heart was pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath and tried to play it cool.

"And what secret is that?" I asked.

"Only the worst-kept secret of the century. Mick, we _aaaaall_ know you're in love with Rossi."

I pursed my lips, feeling like Morgan could hear my heart beating. Part of me was relieved that that was all he was speculating about, and not the complete truth.

"It's been a _year_ and you're still trying to push that theory? Get over it," I rolled my eyes again.

"Don't be so snippy, Hunter Lynn McCarthy. I'm just stating facts."

"You are _not_ —"

"Get 'em off me! Morgan, get 'em off me! Get 'em off me!" Reid suddenly began shouting.

I rushed to turn the lamp on by the couch. The sleeping agent was clutching at his chest, trying to pull something off of him, screaming in his sleep until Morgan started shaking him.

"Reid— _Reid_! Wake up, it's Morgan."

Reid was clearly going through something. He so rarely behaved like this. I hoped he was all right.

"What the hell's going on?" Craig asked, coming down the stairs with his wife in tow. They had turned the light on in the hall above.

"Sir, ma'am, everything's okay," I said, maneuvering my way to the stairs to reassure them.

"You wake us up screaming, you think everything's _okay_?" Craig said with an attitude.

"I understand that we startled you and I'm sorry for that," I told him in a calm voice.

"You're the _FBI_ ," he retorted.

"You're right. You're right. I'm r-I'm really sorry," Reid stuttered in a breathy voice, standing up.

"Sir, please," Morgan pleaded with Craig, coming up to my elbow. "Go back upstairs and try to get some rest. It was just a misunderstanding. Everything is _fine_ , I promise you that."

Craig turned and walked up the stairs, but Amy stayed, her arms folded across her chest. She looked at Reid on the couch.

" _Are_ you okay?" she asked.

"It was a dream, I'm really sorry," Reid said in a soft voice.

"Was it about Michael?"

Reid shook his head. "No."

"I've been afraid to close my eyes," Amy said, clearly trying to hold her emotions back. "I'm scared I'll see him die."

"Ma'am, I know it's hard. But I need you to go upstairs and try to get some sleep. Please," Morgan said gently. But she just stared at Reid. "I am so sorry for the disturbance."

After a moment, Amy turned on her heel and clicked the hall light off. As stoic as she was trying to be, I knew that she was on the verge of tears. I couldn't imagine what she must have been feeling.

"I'm making everything worse," Reid sighed, sitting down.

"Reid, these cases get to all of us," I said as I took a seat on the couch next to him. "If you need a minute, you need a minute," I added, echoing David's words to me the night I told him about Cassandra.

"I'm losing it in their living room. And I'm dreaming-I'm dreaming about dead kids…and covered in leeches," he continued.

"What the hell is scaring you?" Morgan asked, sitting on the coffee table.

"This boy's gonna die and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

* * *

After braiding two strands of hair and tying them together behind my head, I picked a piece of fuzz off the lapel of my blazer and exited the bathroom, finding Hotch and Morgan in the living room, looking over files. JJ stood by the door, watching out the window as if our unsub was going to drive up and drop Michael off before we left for Ethan's funeral. She kept her hands on her pregnant belly, absentmindedly stroking spirals into her blouse. I couldn't find Reid anywhere, so I wondered if he was still upstairs getting ready, like Craig and Amy.

I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and looked up to see the parents in question approaching us. Craig was in a suit, while Amy was wearing a black dress with a matching cardigan.

"I can't do this. I'm sorry," she said, turning around as her husband reached the last step.

I couldn't blame her for being uncomfortable. I understood why Hotch ordered it, but part of me thought it was a lot to ask them to go to the funeral of the other victim while their child was still in the clutches of the unsub.

"What are you doing?" Craig asked, stopping her.

"I'm not going to the funeral," she turned to look at her husband.

"We talked about this."

"No, _you_ talked. I listened."

"Uh, please tell her th-this is our only chance," Craig said as Hotch, Morgan, and I stepped over to them.

"We feel like it's a viable plan," Hotch said calmly.

"You're asking us to go to the funeral of a five year-old boy," Amy glared at our unit chief. "We're going to watch them lower his body into the ground. And the same man who killed him has _our_ son."

"If the man who took Michael is there, your presence might just startle him," I offered in a gentle voice. "We're looking for anything that might draw him out."

"I can't watch them bury a child, knowing that we're next."

"We feel like this plan has a reasonable chance of success," Morgan told the mother.

"And what do you consider a reasonable chance that I will ever see my son again?" she fired back tearfully. "Ten percent? Twenty?"

"I can't give you numbers," Morgan replied.

"You could," Amy challenged.

"I understand if you can't do this," Hotch said. "But if you can, we need to talk about who we're looking for." He nodded his head to me.

"He's probably white, in his late-twenties to mid-thirties. Possibly middle-class, judging by the quality of the clothing Ethan was found in," I started. It felt weird to give a profile to the parents of the victim. "He's not the kind of guy who'll come to the funeral in a high-end or well-tailored suit."

"He'll probably be giving the two of you a lot of attention, so be prepared for that," Hotch added.

"He's going to talk to us?" Craig asked.

"He might. Or he might be focusing more on the two of you than the service itself," Morgan said.

I could see Craig's Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Amy held her fist up to her mouth and stared over her shoulder.

"Okay," she mumbled, turning back to catch my eye.

Amy grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder while Morgan slid into his blazer. Reid still hadn't appeared, so Derek volunteered to look for him, climbing up the stairs.

"If you sense someone looking at you, then you need to tell us," I reminded Craig and Amy. "We're conditioned to feel fear. The little hairs on the back of your neck? They tell us the truth."

"JJ will stay here," Hotch said after appearing by my elbow. "If the phone rings, she'll say she's a family friend and that you're at a funeral." Then he shepherded the couple towards the front door.

"You can do this," JJ said to a still reluctant Amy. The mother nodded her head and walked out the door.

* * *

"There's a very full crowd here today," said the minister from where he stood by the heartbreakingly small casket, "which I believe is part of the natural outpouring of grief over someone so innocent. It also a reminder that there is another boy out there who is in danger and in need of our prayers. Let's take a moment and pray for that boy. For his safe return."

My eyes flickered over to where Craig and Amy stood, their heads down. They were behind where the Hayes family sat, standing next to Hotch. I was standing between Reid and Morgan, off to the side. Emily and David were directly across us, underneath a large tree. I envied the amount of shade they were in, feeling the sweat dripping down the back of my neck.

I scanned the large crowd, my eyes peeled for odd behavior. Most of the audience was praying silently, while some stared forlornly at the casket. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amy's head pop up suddenly. She started looking around as well. I tried to follow her eyeline, but struggled to find anything out of the ordinary.

"Reid," Morgan murmured over my head. I looked up and saw him staring at our teammate, who seemed to be in a daze. "What's going on?"

The doctor was trying to collect his thoughts. "I've been here before."

"In the name of the Father, Son, Holy Ghost," the minister said.

I watched as David and Emily did the sign of the cross. Not being Catholic—or religious in the least—I kept my hands folded in front of me.

"Amen," the minister continued, the crowd mumbling the word back to him.

He began to speak about a passage from the Bible, but I tuned him out. I felt Emily's eyes on me. She then jerked her head to the side, directing my attention to a man a few paces away from us, filming the service on his cell phone. The man was balding and gaunt with a thin mustache and goatee.

I quietly stepped back and slowly walked over to the man, standing behind his right shoulder. Moments later, David was standing by my side, peering over the man's left shoulder to see the footage he was getting. I felt a slight tingle in my stomach at the proximity to David, but I had to suppress it, given the circumstances.

Noting our presence, the man stiffened up and glanced over his shoulder at me, then at David.

"Are you a friend of the family?" David asked in a hushed voice.

"Uh, no," the man replied, lowering his phone. "I just, uh, read about it in the paper."

"And you decided to come to the funeral?"

"Yeah. It was…it was sad. I love kids."

I felt the bottom of my stomach fall out. This could have been our guy.

"I wanted the family to know that people care," he added.

"And videotaping—who's that for?" I asked.

The man glanced down at his phone. I could sense his worry.

"We're gonna take a walk," David said. "And we're gonna do it very quietly so as not to disturb these people."

The man turned around and David and I each took a hold of one of his arms, trying to be as subtle as one can when delivering a perp-walk.

* * *

 _"Where were you on the days Ethan Hayes and Michael Bridges were abducted?" Hunter asked in the interrogation room._

 _David Rossi was perched on the edge of the table, sitting with his knees drawn to his chest, his folded arms resting over his kneecaps. Though they were in the middle of questioning the creep they found at the funeral (Walter Davis, his name was), he couldn't help looking at Hunter._

 _They had both taken off their blazers and draped them over the backs of the chairs in the room, leaving him in his vertically striped shirt and her in her charcoal-colored blouse. In the process of the interrogation, they had both rolled their sleeves up to their elbows to cool down. Hunter had assembled her hair into a messy bun low on the back of her head, hanging above the nape of her neck. Below her blouse she was wearing a pair of tight-fitting black slacks that tapered at her ankles and a pair of matching flats._

 _She was leaning her shoulders against the cold wall, her hips angled out further so her body made a triangle with the wall, her arms folded against her chest. David smirked to himself. He always thought Hunter looked very much in her element when doing interrogations. He liked seeing her like that._

 _Since they had decided to get together, he noticed her struggling as she tried to hide everything. She could be a good little actor when she wanted to be, but not as much when she was around him, as he noticed before they had talked about their feelings at his lake house. Before she even knew how he felt, she would squirm in his presence, trying desperately not to let on that she was smitten with him—and failing a lot of the time._

 _Now she was tasked with pretending like they weren't in the early stages of a relationship. She would rarely make eye contact or come anywhere near him, afraid of tipping the others off. He knew that she wasn't thrilled with trying to keep everything under wraps and that she hated having to withhold the truth from the people she loved, so he greatly appreciated every effort she was making for him._

 _"I was home," Walter replied._

 _"Don't you need to ask what days those were?" David asked, sitting up._

 _"Am I under arrest?" Walter held out his arms in a half-assed attempt at making a W-shape._

 _"_ No _, you said it yourself: you love kids. You're just helping us out with the investigation," Hunter played along._

 _"So, you have no right to search me," Walter looked up at David, a hopeful glint in his eyes._

 _"Why? What would we find?" David asked._

 _Walter stared at him silently, now looking more worried._

 _"Oh," Hunter straightened up and took a few steps closer to where the creep sat in his chair, "do you like videotaping other things besides funerals?"_

 _Walter gulped, shrinking into his seat. He muttered something under his breath._

 _"What was that? Sorry, I didn't hear you," Hunter placed two fingertips behind the lobe of her ear._

 _"I don't touch," he said louder._

 _"Oh, you don't_ touch _. What a relief," she deadpanned._

 _"Where can we find Michael Bridges?" David asked._

 _"You are trying to frame me," Walter said defensively._

 _David stood up and leaned over the man, resting one hand on the back of his seat and the other on the tabletop. "You killed Ethan Hayes and you're holding Michael Bridges."_

 _"No," Walter shook his head, not looking at either one of the agents._

 _"Well, then why were you videotaping a_ funeral _?" Hunter demanded on the other side of the man. "Does death excite you?"_

 _Walter shook his head fervently, uncomfortable with her tone. David, however, loved seeing Hunter fired up._

 _"Oh, wait," she smirked. "That's it—death gets you_ off _."_

 _"I told you, I don't touch," Walter snapped at her._

 _"No, you just kill 'em and find new ways to watch 'em afterwards," David retorted._

 _"I am not sick."_

 _"Really? 'Cause I think you are," Hunter glared down at the man. "And I think you desperately wanna tell us_ exactly _how sick you really are, Walter, don't you? You_ want _us to search your computer and your home because this is eating you up inside and you know you need to be stopped."_

 _David looked at Hunter, knowing she was getting to Walter. He was as proud of her as he was sickened by the man she was dressing down._

 _"I_ never _would have molested that boy!" Walter smacked his hands down on the table._

 _David and Hunter exchanged glances. No one had been molested._

 _"Which boy?" Rossi asked in a calmer tone._

 _"The one from the funeral."_

 _They exchanged glances again, then looked towards the window where Reid, Morgan, and Detective Ashby stood watching._

* * *

" _You were trying to trick me_ ," said the digitally-altered voice on the recording.

" _No one was trying to trick you_ ," Hotch's voice replied.

I was sitting on the back of the loveseat with Morgan. Our whole team was in the living room at Craig and Amy's house, listening to the tape of the phone conversation that had occurred shortly after David's and my interrogation of Walter Davis.

" _You were trying to lock me down, but you arrested the wrong person_!" the unsub said.

I heard footsteps approaching and glanced over my shoulder to see Michael's parents coming over. Hotch tapped JJ's shoulder to get her to pause the tape and turned to face Craig and Amy.

"Would it be possible for us to work in private for a while?" he asked the parents.

"He was at the funeral. I told you," Amy ignored his request.

"He was at the funeral and you arrested the wrong man," Craig said in an accusatory tone.

"I don't think it is a man," Reid said as he thumbed through a file. "Uh, did you hear the way she described the clothing? She said, 'the blue shoes. Lime green oxford.' Uh, a male wouldn't reference specific details like that."

I cocked my eyebrow, nodding to myself. I glanced at David, who was considering the theory.

"I think Reid's right," Morgan looked up at Hotch. "She talked about what the child wanted. How he slept. How she took care of him. She said, 'I loved him'."

"A male would've emphasized the competition, not the caregiving," I piped up.

"He would've talked about how he was smarter than the FBI," Reid added. "Bragged about not being caught."

"We could have been looking at both men and women—" Amy said in an irritated voice.

"The statistics are overwhelming," David interrupted. "Women abduct newborns. Men take children."

Hotch dialed his cell phone and put it on speaker. "Garcia."

" _I'm right here, sir_ ," her tinny voice replied.

"Will you run the license plates the police gave you and find any that might be registered to a woman?"

" _That would be…zero_."

"How's that possible?" Amy asked.

"Transcript almost reads like she's been institutionalized," Reid sat down at the table with his file splayed open.

"You mean she's crazy," Craig commented.

"Yeah, she described herself as being 'locked down', not 'arrested' or 'put away'," Reid looked up at the father. "Plus, most mental facilities are very rigid about the amount of phone time they allow per day. I-I think her talking about only having three minutes isn't her _rule_ to us. It's what she's been institutionalized to think of as normal."

Every time the unsub spoke to Amy on the phone, she said that they only had three minutes to do so. Initially we had thought of this being a way for the unsub to assert dominance, but I guess we were wrong.

"Garcia, can you get records of women released from mental institutions this past month?" David asked. "She most likely has some trauma in her case file—possibly the death of a child."

" _I'm sorry. I can't do that. To protect patient privilege, th-there's no central database. I could hack each hospital individually, but even then, most diagnoses are kept separately by the different doctors._ "

Reid looked up. "I think I might have a way."

* * *

Reid had gone to the mental institution his mother lived in to see if one of the administrators could help us out. JJ and Hotch sat in the living room with Craig and Amy to review the footage of the funeral and see if they could find anything. Eventually they found a shot of a blonde woman whom Amy pointed out. Then Reid called to present a new theory—this woman was breastfeeding the boys, hence why the medical examiner was so confused as to how Ethan was getting nutrients.

" _I got a hit off the woman in the video. I ran it through ViCAP. Her name's Claire Bates. She was institutionalized three years ago after assault a fellow secretary at a law firm. And by that, I mean she bit off part of her ear_ ," Garcia explained over speaker once we had all gathered back in the living room, save for Reid.

"Do we have an address?" David asked.

" _There's no last known_."

"Try running the license plates again," Morgan put forth.

" _…Got it. No, wait. That's no good._ "

"What's wrong?" I asked, gnawing on the inside of my cheek.

" _It's registered to her father. He lived in Reno, but he died two years ago_."

"Garcia, pull up birth records. If-If she's really breastfeeding, then she must have just given birth," Emily pointed out.

" _…Here we go. Claire Bates gave birth to a son three weeks ago. He—oh…_ "

"What is it, Garcia?" Hotch asked.

" _Social Services removed the baby from her care after a seven-day evaluation_."

"That's why she holds the boys for seven days," Rossi nodded.

"She's recreating the loss of her baby," Morgan added.

"But she's taking five year-olds," JJ said.

"Her psychosis must be projecting her baby onto any children she can get access to," Hotch said.

"Garcia, can you read us the Social Services report?" I asked.

" _'While it is admirable that the patient stayed off anti-psychotic medication for the health of her fetus, we strongly believe that due to a history of violent and delusional behavior, there is a significant risk to the child if she is granted guardianship. Therefore, the child shall be a ward of the state until such time a full-time guardian can be established'_."

"Is there an address?" Emily wondered.

" _2509 Brookside Avenue_."

We all rose from our seats except for our media liaison and the parents. Hotch was telling Craig and Amy that JJ would stay with them as we headed outside to the Suburbans.

* * *

I sped up to the small ranch house, dirt and dust flying under my wheels. I parked beside Claire's SUV and quickly got out with everyone else, readying my Glock.

"Watch yourselves," Hotch warned us. "If she's truly delusional, she'll have moments of clarity where she realizes what she's done."

"Morgan and I'll go 'round back," David said.

"Prentiss, McCarthy, and I'll take these doors," Hotch said as we approached the front of the house.

I backed Emily up, going to one of the two doors before us. We looked inside, but everything seemed quiet. I looked back at Hotch, waiting for his signal while David and Morgan disappeared behind the corner.

Hotch nodded and Emily opened the door. We entered the kitchen, finding only the bare minimum of furniture and a baby-carrier.

"Claire!" Hotch shouted. "Stop, Claire!"

I turned, whipping my gun around. I caught a glance of the blonde woman scurrying by, a blue bundle in her arms.

"She's going out the back," Hotch said into his sleeve. "Careful, she's got the boy," he said as Emily and I followed him out the hallway.

" _Hotch, we got her!_ " Morgan's voice said through the comm. device. I then heard him shout, "She's going to the garage!"

Hotch, Emily, and I exited the back door of the small house and followed Morgan and David as they ran after Claire. The three of us went to the other side of the dilapidated garage and found Claire lighting a pile of logs on fire. We all surrounded her, pointing our guns. She cradled the bundle to her chest, staring into the high flames.

"Claire," I said as calmly as I could muster. "Back away from the fire and put him down."

"My baby's dead," she responded.

"No, he isn't," Emily told her. "He's being taken really good care of by someone else. Just like you need to take care of this boy."

"I kept healthy. I did good," Claire said. She seemed really proud of herself.

"We know you did," I said. "We just need you to step away and put the boy down."

"My baby's dead," she repeated.

"No, he isn't, Claire," Emily shook her head. "Let us prove it to you."

"Do you have a clean shot at her?" David asked Morgan next to him.

"She's not armed, Rossi," Derek pointed out.

"If he's still alive and she drops him in the fire, we may not be able to save him."

Claire cuddled the bundle protectively, her eyes never leaving the dancing flames. I tried to swallow the knot in my throat.

"Do you have a shot?" David asked slowly.

"Yes," Morgan stepped to the side slowly. "I got one."

But before he could squeeze the trigger, Reid's voice came in on the comm. device.

" _I've got Michael! I've got Michael!_ "

He must have just arrived at the house and gone into a room Hotch, Emily, and I hadn't yet cleared. Thankful, I started to lower my Glock. Then I saw Claire step towards the fire.

"No, don't do it!" Morgan shouted, running at her as she dropped the bundle into the flames.

But all it had been was a teddy bear wrapped in a blanket.

I looked up at Claire. A single tear tracked down her grimy face as she looked at the burning toy. Feeling David's eyes on me, I glanced over at him before I pulled out my cell phone and called JJ to let her know Michael was safe.

Very soon, the property was flooded with cop cars and an ambulance. I watched from the front lawn as Craig and Amy pulled up with JJ, just as a policewoman was marching Claire to her vehicle. Amy stopped in her tracks, sharing a tense stare with the woman who abducted her son before running off to reunite with him.

Amy looked worried when she couldn't see the boy. But then Hotch walked him outside, letting go of Michael's small hand so he could run into his mother's arms. She picked him up and Craig started rubbing his back, kissing the five year-old's arm. Hotch and JJ went to talk to the parents.

"You ever think about having kids?" Morgan said, coming up to my elbow as I watched the scene.

"Oh, I dunno," I shrugged, unstrapping my bulletproof vest. "I think I'm fine just being an aunt for now."

"C'mon, you'd be great. Mama Mick. I can see it now."

I rolled my eyes. "It'll be a cold day in hell when my potential children call me _Mama Mick_."

"I can set you up with someone, if you want," he offered, his smirk leaving his face. "I got some single friends looking to settle down."

I looked at Morgan. He looked sincere. I glanced down at the pointy toes of my flats to hide my relief. He had no idea there was anything going on with David.

Then I felt a set of eyes on me. My eyes flickered up to my secret significant other, who was watching our conversation from a few feet away.

"Thank you, Derek," I said. "I really appreciate it. I'll let you know if and when."


	19. Memoriam

**I sat in** my hotel bed in the dark, clad only in a sports bra and a pair of track shorts. I was tying my hair into French pigtails as I half-watched the tail end of a movie. I had just gotten out of the shower after spending part of my night with Emily at a casino and was planning on falling asleep very soon.

See, Reid had asked Hotch if we could stay in Vegas for another night, probably so he could spend a little time with his mother. We had gotten dinner together as a team and then split up later to make the most of the night. Emily kept trying to get me to keep up with her as she ordered drinks. But I feared that Drunk Hunter would let loose my secrets, so I stopped after two ciders.

There were two dull raps on the door that adjoined my room with the room next to me. I felt a tingle of excitement in my stomach, knowing whose room happened to be on the other side. I had wondered if he would try to arrange a visit before we returned to Quantico.

I opened the door on my side and saw David standing there, the top button on his shirt undone. He gave me a crooked smile, looking up and down at my state of undress. I blushed, moving to fold my arms across my bare stomach.

"Why would you want to do something like that, _bella_?" David murmured, reaching out to stop me. "Art shouldn't be covered up."

"Oh, stop," I snickered, rubbing the side of my neck. My face was burning.

David put one of his hands on the curve of my waist, pulling me into his chest. He cupped his other hand to the back of my head and held my face very close to his, staring down at my lips. I could smell his cologne and I felt the butterflies erupting in my stomach.

"Never," he said before closing the distance between our lips. He tasted like expensive scotch.

"David," I whispered, catching my breath when we finally parted.

He pressed his forehead against mine, the hand on my waist now exploring my back. I wrapped my arms around him, savoring our embrace. I lived for moments like this. It never felt wrong, being in his arms.

"You're beautiful," he said, kissing my forehead, then my nose, then the side of my neck.

I couldn't help the smile creeping on my face. "You're too good to me," I said as he somehow managed to pull me even closer.

"Spend the night in my room, _bella_."

I felt a lump in my throat. It wasn't that I didn't want to. Our relationship was so new and we'd both decided to try and take it slow.

"You've been drinking," I said. "It wouldn't be right."

"I assure you—that if I were— _completely_ sober—" he said between kisses, "—I would still be—right here—right now—asking you—to spend the night with me."

"Oh, I believe it," I smirked. "But I still don't think it would be right."

"So honorable, you are."

Both of David's hands grabbed hold of my hips, thumbing circles into the sensitive flesh covering my bones. He kissed me again, not letting go until there was a knock on my door.

I whipped my head around, hoping I didn't hurt him with my braids. The strip of light under the door from the hallway outside was interrupted by a set of feet. I didn't realize I was holding my breath.

" _I know you're awake, Hunter Lynn_ ," came the muffled sing-song voice of a very drunk Emily Prentiss from outside.

"I should…" I whispered, trailing off.

"If you change your mind, just knock," David winked, kissing me one last time before letting go of me and closing the adjoining door.

I wrapped my arms around myself, still feeling every place his hands had been, still tasting him on my lips. I tried to bite the smile down as I approached the door Emily was yet again knocking on. When I opened it, she twirled her way in, flipping on the light switch.

"Don't touch the mini-bar!" I gasped, rushing over to where she was eyeing the little bottles.

"Put it on Rossi's bill. He can afford it," she slurred as she reached out for a nip of Jack Daniels.

"Oh, I'm not worried about paying," I said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away. "You've had more than enough for the night."

"Because I had to make up for you. Why weren't you drinking? Are you pregnant?" Emily eyed my stomach. "Maybe you and JJ can start a daycare."

"What? No," I furrowed my brow. "I'm not pregnant."

"Then why weren't you drinking?" Emily flopped down on my mattress, her hands gripping the sheets below her.

"I drank a little," I shrugged, turning around the shut the door. "I'm just not in the mood to get drunk."

When I didn't get a response, I looked over at my best friend and found her passed out, her feet dangling over the edge of the bed. I smiled to myself as I went to take her shoes off and tuck her in.

* * *

"C'mon, baby, give it to me," Morgan cheered on the slot machine he was sitting at in the hotel lobby. "Give it to me—see? Nah-uh."

"Morgan, can you…please, can you…?" Emily patted him on the shoulder. She had just gotten a cup of coffee at the table next to him. "My head…"

"Oh, my bad, sorry," Morgan grinned at her, the machine beeping and dropping coins.

"You know those things are rigged, right?" I told him, getting my own cup of coffee and pouring lots of cream and sugar into it.

I watched as Emily slowly walked over to the couch where David was sitting, reading a newspaper. After the moment he and I shared last night, I was finding it very hard to look him in the eye. However, I did catch him peering over the paper at me earlier, his eyes on the back pockets of my tight jeans.

Emily grunted as she plopped onto the couch cushions. She raised her hand to her forehead, clamping down over her bangs.

"Want me to get you a mimosa, Em, hold the champagne?" I snickered at her.

"You really couldn't just say orange juice, could you?" Emily sipped at her coffee.

"Oh, is _that_ what it would be? Silly me, I forgot," I joked.

She didn't even look at me when she flipped me off. Morgan and I exchanged glances as he reached for his go-bag on the ground, trying not to laugh too loudly.

"Late night?" David asked her, pretending he hadn't remembered her little interruption.

"I'll say," I muttered, raising my coffee to my lips and walking over to stand with Morgan.

"I hate Vegas," Emily sighed.

"C'mon, Prentiss, how can you hate Vegas? This is a grown-up's playground," Morgan smirked at her.

"Anyone seen Reid?" JJ asked as she came over to us.

"I know he stayed with his mom last night."

"Well, he should be here by now. He knows the departure time," JJ looked over her shoulder. She then glanced at the slot machine Morgan had abandoned. "Oh, this thing still has credit on it." She reached out to touch a button.

"JJ, I swear to God," Emily held out her hand to halt the blonde.

"What?" JJ furrowed her brow and glancing over at me, but I was trying too hard to stifle a laugh to answer her question.

Instead, David gestured to Emily, whose eyes were closed, and silently re-enacted how he imagined she spent the night before. Morgan and I chuckled to ourselves. Rossi wasn't far off in his impersonation.

"Oh, here he comes right now," I said, nodding up at Reid as he rushed into the lobby and found us.

"What'd you do, sleep through your alarm?" Morgan asked him.

"Sorry to keep you guys waiting," Reid said as David got up and stood beside me.

"Hotch is already at the airstrip," JJ told him. "How fast can you pack?"

"Actually, I'm gonna-I'm gonna stay for a couple of days," Reid looked at all of us.

"Is everything all right?" David asked.

"Yeah, I just, um—I haven't seen my mom for a really long time, so I'd like a few more days."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, take a few days. Do what you need to do," David said, walking past the younger agent.

I reached down on the floor and slung my go-bag over my shoulder, following Morgan and a sluggish Emily as they also left the lobby. When we stepped out into the sunshine, Morgan looked right back at me and stopped in his tracks, letting Emily pass him so she could follow David to the Suburban.

"There's no way he's just here to stay with his mom," Morgan said quietly.

"You don't think?" I asked, glancing back at the doors that led into the hotel.

"Some other case has been bothering him," Morgan told me.

I reached into the side pocket of my go-bag and grabbed my aviators. "Is that why he was having those weird dreams?" As I slid my sunglasses onto my face, I noticed that David was staring at us. He furrowed his brow and walked over, handing Emily the keys to the Suburban.

"Yeah," Morgan nodded, not offering any more information.

"You noticed Reid was lying through his teeth as well?" David asked, arching a thick black eyebrow.

I nodded at him.

"You guys coming or what?" JJ asked, exiting the hotel.

"JJ," Morgan sighed, "we also might have to stay in Vegas for a little bit longer."

* * *

"Hi, I'm _so_ sorry, but I lost the key to my room," I fake-laughed through my nose, shaking my head. "My husband's at a conference and he turned his phone off, so I can't reach him. How silly of me."

"What room, ma'am?" the desk attendant at the Fountain View hotel asked, a friendly smile on her face.

"419. It would be under my husband's name—Dr. Spencer Reid," I told her, only knowing the room number because we called Garcia and she did a little digging.

The attendant typed into her computer and I looked around the fancy hotel lobby. I hoped to myself that this little ruse would work, as David and Morgan were standing outside the agent's door at that moment. By the time our jet had surely left for Virginia, the three of us had gone up to see if he were still around, but it appeared that Reid had left the building in the meantime. He could have been at his mother's mental facility, but smart money had him at the police station, finding out about this case Morgan had mentioned.

"Here you go, Mrs. Reid," the attendant said, beaming at me as she handed me a freshly-activated room key. It felt so weird to hear her call me 'Mrs. Reid.'

"Thank you so much," I glanced at her nametag, " _Lisa_. I promise I won't lose this one."

"Not a problem, Mrs. Reid. Enjoy your stay."

I smiled at her and started walking toward the elevator, feeling bittersweet about how easy it was to acquire someone else's key. I pressed the up-button and waited for the elevator doors to open. Meanwhile, I dug into the back pocket of my jeans and pulled out my cell phone, dialing Morgan's number.

" _Tell me something good, Mick_ ," he answered.

"We're in," I told him as soon as my elevator arrived, hanging up as I stepped inside.

* * *

Not interested in the least by the soap opera David and Morgan were watching while eating snacks, I was lying at the foot of Reid's bed, trying to rest my eyes. I couldn't help glancing up and snickering at the situation. Two of the most macho men I knew, eyes glued to the screen.

Suddenly, the door we had left ajar was slowly pushed open. I sat up and turned to see Reid entering the room, an evidence box in his arms.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Hey," Morgan gestured to the TV. "What's it look like we're doing?"

"Uh, breaking into my room and watching _Days of our Lives_?" Reid put the box down on the table.

" _Young and the Restless_ ," David corrected, turning off the TV. "And we didn't break in. Your _wife_ let us in."

Reid looked confused.

"Hey, hubby," I smirked, blowing him a kiss.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a plane back to DC?" Reid set his satchel down.

" _You're_ supposed to be hanging out with your mom," David pointed out, looking up at the doctor.

"And you're _not_ ," Morgan added.

Reid touched his face nervously.

"Riley Jenkins?" Morgan pointed at the box. Morgan had told us all that Reid had been having flashbacks and dreams about a young boy of the same name who had died when Reid was little—mysteriously found abused and murdered in the basement.

"No, it's not," Reid stepped in front of it quickly. "That's not actually why I'm here."

"That was convincing," I deadpanned, standing up from the bed and walking over to my teammate.

"Reid," Morgan said, also standing up. "Come on, man. Who do you think you're talking to?"

Reid didn't say anything, but his Adam's apple was bouncing in his throat.

"I know what this has been doing to you," Morgan said.

"Let us help," David stood as well. "Maybe together we can find out who killed him."

Reid glanced at all three of us individually. "I think I might already know."

"So tell us about the suspect," I said, jamming my hands into my pockets.

"Truth is, I don't-I don't know anything about him," Reid admitted. "He's my father."

David, Morgan, and I exchanged glances. Reid then began to remove the contents of the evidence box and place them on the bedspread.

"Before we go down this road, you need to be sure," David eyed the younger agent.

"He's right. Some rocks don't need looking under," Morgan shook his head.

"My mind is sending me signals. I-I-I can't ignore them anymore," Reid responded.

" _Mixed_ signals," I folded my arms across my chest. "That's what the subconscious is all about—you know that."

"Reid, your dad left you," Morgan said carefully. "You take it to the Freudian extreme, you could say that he killed your childhood."

Reid made a face.

"Could explain a dream in which you see him as a murderer," David theorized.

"I've come this far. I'm not going back," the doctor shook his head.

* * *

"Riley was six at the time," Reid said as we all looked into the files. "His father, Lou Jenkins, was supposed to pick him up from t-ball practice at four, but he got delayed at work, prompting Riley to walk the three blocks home. When his mother got home in the early evening, she found him dead in the basement."

"So the offender came to the house after he arrived home," I said from my perch on the ottoman.

"Or picked him up on the way there," Reid added.

"Coaxes Riley into the basement where he sexually assaults him," Morgan said, pacing across from me.

"The boy's mouth was taped shut," David read.

"Symbolic. The unsub fears Riley will talk, panics, weighs his options…" Reid trailed off.

"Decides to make certain he'll never talk," I gnawed on the inside of my cheek.

"He finds a knife in the fishing gear under the stairs, stabs Riley nine times in the chest, stuffs him behind the washing machine," David closed his file.

"So the unsub's a white male in his late twenties to early thirties," Reid said.

"Means we're looking for a man in his early fifties by now," I nodded.

"Likely knew the boy," Morgan said. He had sat down on the mattress. "Maybe been to his house."

"Neighbor," David suggested.

I glanced over at the doctor. He was staring down at a few sheets of paper, lost in thought. "Reid, what is it?" I asked.

"My family lived less than a half mile from the Jenkins'," he said quietly in response.

"You think your dad knew the boy?" David looked at him.

"I don't know," Reid rubbed at his eye. "My memory's…lack of recall just reinforces how little I knew about him."

"Reid, we're gonna have to track him down. You do know that?" Morgan warned.

"We should talk to my mother first, neighbors, g-get their impressions," Reid deflected.

"Reid, I don't need to tell you that this signature was need-based and sexual in nature. The man we're looking for is a pedophile," David leaned forward in his seat. "So I'll ask you again: are you _sure_ you wanna go down this road?"

* * *

Reid had gone to visit his mother and found out that his father coached the little league baseball team that Riley Jenkins had been on, as had a young Spencer Reid. The doctor and Morgan had gone to find Riley's dad, leaving David and me alone at the hotel to keep looking at the files.

"I apologize for being so forward last night," David looked up at me.

"It's okay," I felt my cheeks warm up at the memory. "I didn't mind."

"You had to babysit Prentiss, though?"

"Oh, yeah," I snickered. "Not for long. She passed out in my bed."

"Maybe I should start a rumor that you two have engaged in a lesbian affair," David grinned. "To distract attention from us, of course."

"What makes you think she and I haven't already?" I joked, giving him a wink.

"How I wish you were being serious."

I chuckled to myself, reaching from the seat Reid had been sitting in earlier to whack him on the knee with my file.

"Though…if everyone thought you were dating someone else, I could flirt with you all I want and no one would think twice," David shrugged.

I tilted my head and smiled at him. He was giving me such a cute look. But I wasn't entirely sure how serious he was being. "If you're going to start spreading rumors, maybe you shouldn't have them be about someone else on the team," I suggested. "I thought the whole point was to keep me in the BAU."

David nodded slowly to himself, his eyes tracing every curve on my face. "Do you think our plan is working?" he asked after a moment.

"I mean, Morgan just asked if I wanted him to set me up with someone, so, yeah, I guess it is," I shrugged.

"Good," David nodded.

"I turned him down, just so you know."

"Attagirl," David winked. He was about to say something else when he got a phone call. "Rossi … Okay … We'll be ready," David closed his cell phone and looked at me. "Reid's dad works in Summerlin. We're gonna go meet him."

* * *

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" the secretary said as we entered the law firm. Rolling my eyes, I stepped out from behind Morgan. "And miss?" the secretary gave me a look that showed she was struggling to be polite. The woman stood up from her desk to approach us.

"Yeah," Reid said as we came to the counter.

The younger doctor was struggling to say anything else. From my spot between Reid and Morgan, I noticed David glance at him and take charge.

"We'd like to speak with William Reid," David said.

"Is he expecting you?" the secretary asked.

"I don't think so," David said, presenting his badge.

"He's in a meeting right now, why don't you have a seat and I'll tell him you're here?" she backed away and walked into the office room next to her desk.

Morgan, David, and I all looked at Reid, who seemed very nervous. I chewed on my lip, hoping that he was all right.

"You okay?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah," Reid nodded, his voice breathy. "No-yeah-I'm gonna…I'm gonna go to the bathroom." And he scurried off.

Morgan watched his retreating figure and then turned back to look at David. "I've never seen him like this before."

"Same," I folded my arms across my chest.

"Seventeen years is a long time to go between visits," David commented.

"Not long enough—the kid's still angry," Morgan replied.

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that."

"I'll be right back," a thin man with graying hair said, exiting the office room, glimpsing at us, and handing the secretary a folder. "Here you go." When she gestured to us, he turned to look at us once again, concern on his face. "You from the FBI?"

"Yes, sir," David raised his credentials yet again. "Mr. Reid, I'm Agent Rossi. These are Agents Morgan and McCarthy."

"This wouldn't be about the, uh, city council investigation, would it?" William glanced back at his secretary.

"No, this is more of a personal matter," I piped up.

"It concerns your son," Morgan said gravely.

"My son?" William repeated. "Did-Did something happen?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Reid said quietly, coming to Morgan's elbow. The two Reids looked at each other as if they had both just seen a ghost. "Hello, Dad."

* * *

"You don't look like me anymore," William said to his son after we had all settled down in his office. He was sitting in one of his armchairs in the middle of the room. "You used to. Everybody said so," he added, looking at Rossi who was seated on the leather couch. Morgan and I were standing by the bookshelf, whereas Reid could barely bring himself into the office. He was standing a few paces away from the door.

"They say some people look like their dogs, too," Reid said with a drop of poison in his voice.

The smile was wiped from William's face. He looked down at the floor. He probably thought this reunion would go a little smoother. I couldn't blame Reid for his attitude—if my father had abandoned me with my mentally ill mother at a young age, I think I'd be a little resentful too.

"It's attributed to prolonged mutual exposure. Elderly couples also," Reid continued.

William glanced over at Derek and me, as if expecting us to stop his son.

We weren't going to.

"They unconsciously mimic the expressions of people they've been around their whole life, so it kind of…kind of makes sense that I wouldn't really look like you—I haven't _seen_ you in twenty years."

William nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. I saw Reid gulp himself.

"So, you in town on work?" William asked, pretending that guilt trip hadn't been laid upon him.

"We're just wrapping up a case," I piped up.

"A five year-old boy was abducted and murdered," Morgan added.

"I read about that," William said. "Uh, Ethan Hayes, right? That's terrible."

"That case got me thinking about…Riley Jenkins," Reid said. William glanced at Morgan. "You remember Riley Jenkins?"

"Of course," William responded.

"I've been having dreams about him for a really long time, but when we came back here for this case, it jogged something and the dream changed," Reid told him. "I saw his killer. And he was you."

William looked at his son for a moment. Then he smiled. "Interesting dream."

"You don't seem all that surprised," Morgan said, his muscular arms crossed.

"I stopped being surprised by Spencer's mind a long time ago," William said proudly.

"There are certain criteria we consider when looking at this type of suspect. You fit parts of that profile," David said.

"Me?"

"We just want your cooperation."

"My coopera…" William chuckled, trailing off. He looked at Morgan and me again, this time expecting us to start laughing and telling him it was all a joke.

We weren't going to do that either.

William looked back at David. "You're not actually saying you think I killed Riley Jenkins?"

" _We_ didn't say that," Reid blinked.

"Good, 'cause that's absurd," William said defensively.

"We'd just like permission to look through your computer and access your records," I put my hands on my hips.

"Yeah, and what would you be looking for, exactly?" he leaned forward in his seat to narrow his eyes at me. I cocked an eyebrow. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see David glaring at him. "You want access to my files?" William then turned to his son. "Get a warrant."

* * *

Since we didn't have enough to get a warrant, Reid called Garcia to hack into his father's computer as he returned to his hotel room. He found an envelope with a note on it saying that he was looking for the wrong person. In it was a file for a convicted sex offender named Gary B. Michaels that Reid might have encountered in his childhood.

"Was the envelope dropped off at the front desk first?" David asked after Reid showed us the next day. We were all standing in the lobby, by the jingling slot machines.

"Nope," Reid shook his head, "it went straight to my room."

"So they knew what room you're in," I said, re-rolling the right sleeve of my blouse up to my elbow.

"I do have to admit the timing of this is a little suspicious," Morgan said, looking over David's shoulder at the file.

"Yeah, an hour after I see my father, we're handed another suspect," Reid agreed.

"You think you knew this guy?" David asked.

"I don't know," Reid shrugged. "I think so, but I'm not sure. I-I—no, I don't know.

"Exposed himself to a minor," David read from the file.

"That's a precursor to molestation," I said. "And murder. We should take a closer look at this guy."

Morgan's cell phone rang and he looked at who was calling. "It's Garcia." He opened up the phone so it was on speaker. "Yeah, talk to me, baby girl."

" _I'm not interrupted boy time at Crazy Horse Too, am I?_ " she asked, referencing the infamous gentlemen's club.

"Hey, now," I furrowed my brow.

" _Oh, right, you're still there, Hunter._ "

"How could you forget it?" I feigned offense.

" _You keeping those boys in line and out of trouble?_ "

"It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it," I grinned.

"Don't worry, baby girl. You know strip club's aren't my thing," Morgan said. "I'm more for in-room entertainment."

" _I can't help you there. But I_ do _give good phone_."

I pursed my lips, hoping for her sake that she was alone in her office when she said that. Over a year ago we had called her when Strauss was out in the field with us—long story—and Garcia, not knowing she was on speaker, answered the phone by saying, " _talk dirty to me_ ". Oh, how embarrassed everyone present was for her.

"Let me hear what you got," Morgan grinned.

" _Reid, we've been all up in your father's business_."

"What'd you find?" the doctor asked softly.

" _Well, let me tell you first what I did_ not _find. No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chat room history_ …"

"What about his finances?"

" _We went back ten years_ ," Hotch said.

So he _had_ heard Garcia's 'phone' comment. Oh, God, the secondhand embarrassment I was feeling…

" _No questionable transactions that we can find_ ," Hotch finished.

" _Well, he_ did _buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago, but I think we can overlook that_ ," Emily joked, making me grin.

"He's smart. Is it possible he kept things under the table?" Reid asked.

" _Well, of course, but…from what we can tell, Reid, he doesn't fit the profile_ ," Hotch said carefully.

" _We_ can _tell you other things about him, if you wanna know_ ," Emily said.

Reid gulped. "I'm listening."

" _Uh, he's a workaholic. He actually logs more hours than we do. He makes decent money, but he doesn't spend a lot of it. He has a modest house. He drives a hybrid. Uh, doesn't travel much. He stays away from the casinos. Um, and according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat_ ," Emily reported.

" _He appears to spend most of his free time alone. He goes to the movies a lot and he reads. And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favorite author is, uh…_ "

"Isaac Asimov, I remember that one," Reid interrupted Hotch.

" _He does have one other major interest_ ," Garcia said. " _On his home computer, he's archived, like, a ka-jillion things on_ one _common subject_."

"What?"

" _You, kiddo. He's got, like, everything that's been published online. Every article you've been quoted in, pieces you've written for behavioral science journals, he even has a copy of your dissertation_."

"He's keeping tabs on you," David said. "That's saying something."

"Yeah, he _Googled_ me," Reid sounded unimpressed. "That makes up for everything. I'm going to get some air."

The doctor stepped between Morgan and David to exit the lobby. I exchanged glances with the men. Then Morgan lifted the phone back up to his lips.

"You guys still there?" he asked.

" _I thought we were giving him good news_ ," Garcia lamented.

" _What else can we do?_ " Hotch asked.

"Can you look up a name for us, please and thank you?" I asked, glancing back down at the file in David's tan hands. "Gary Brendan Michaels."

" _You like this Gary guy for the Riley murder?_ " Emily replied.

"Somebody does," David sighed.

After we had ended the phone conversation, David, Morgan, and I went searching for Reid. We finally found him at a machine, a blonde woman in a sparkling purple dress was seated next to him, a freshly lit cigarette held high in her hands.

"Tell you what," she said, leaning closer to Spencer. "I'll put mine out if you buy me a drink."

"Uh, not today, sweetheart," Morgan said as we came up behind them. He clapped his hand on Reid's shoulder. "We've been looking all over the place for you, come on."

Reid wordlessly stood up, looking as if he had just had an epiphany. I noticed the woman staring at the machine he had just been sitting at.

"Hey, you won, like, two thousand dollars here," she exclaimed.

We all turned around. I looked at Reid, who seemed ultimately unbothered.

"Keep it," he said, turning back.

"You do realize you just gave two grand to a hooker?" David eyed the doctor.

"Must have been quite the conversation," I bounced my eyebrows at Reid. "What was it about?"

Reid furrowed his brow, still in thought. "How to stop smoking."

* * *

I volunteered to go along with Reid to a local hypnotherapist by the name of Dr. Jan Mohikian. As he had explained to me on the way over, he had been telling the prostitute that hypnosis was more effective in quitting cigarettes than the patch or the gum, which gave him an idea.

"Th-Thank you for seeing us on, uh, such short notice," Reid said to the blonde therapist after she closed the door to her office and sat down at her desk.

"Well, I'm always happy to assist the FBI," Mohikian smiled. "Is there a witness you want me to look at?"

"Uh, yeah. Uh, _me_ ," Reid told her. "I'm trying to, uh, recover memories from my childhood. There was a murder."

"How long ago are we talking about?"

"I was four."

Mohikian sighed. "Memories from that age can be difficult to interpret."

I looked at Reid in the seat next to me, who was nodding in understanding.

"I'm aware of the limitations of hypnotherapy," he said.

"Well, then you're aware of suggestion issues. If you've looked into this case, you may have a bias."

"So, you're saying what he might remember under hypnosis may not be real?" I asked.

"It's a possibility," she told me. "Either way, it's a tough sell in court."

"Uh, we won't be using this for evidentiary purposes. It's, uh, it's really just for me," Reid looked at me, then back at the therapist. "The suppressed memories are…about my father."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to monitor the session and make sure you get him to the right place," I gave the therapist a tight-lipped smile.

"You want to sit in?" she gave me a look. I nodded. "I don't normally allow that."

"All due respect, there's nothing _normal_ about this situation," I said, weaving my fingers together and wrapping them around my right knee, which was slung over my left one.

Dr. Mohikian relented, interviewing Reid and then getting him set up on the couch by the wall in her office. I was pacing a few yards away, cracking my fingers, thumbs, and wrists. I looked at Reid, his eyes closed. He looked peaceful. The therapist was sitting in her chair, very close to the edge of the couch.

"I want you to hold my wrist in your left hand," she said in a calm voice. "And if you should feel any fear, I want you to squeeze. Do you understand?"

Reid nodded. "Yes," he said in a quiet monotone.

"Go back to the night you were just telling me about. You're at home, in your room. You can't sleep because your parents are arguing."

"He's coming in."

"Who?" Mohikian looked up at me. She looked worried.

"It's Dad," Reid replied.

"What about him, Spencer? What is he doing?"

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, watching as Reid's lips mouthed silent words.

"I don't want to be here," he finally said in a warbling voice.

"Okay. It's okay, Spencer. Take us to where the light is. To the next morning. The sun is coming up. Where are you, Spencer?"

"…Mom? My mom. She's at the window. She's…thinking," Reid's voice kept getting quieter. "She's been crying. Sh-sh-she saw him."

"Who?" Mohikian threw me another worried look. "Your father?"

Reid didn't answer.

"Do you talk to her?" Mohikian asked.

Reid shook his head. "No." He licked his lips. "No, I wanna…I wanna see…"

His brow furrowed and I noticed that he was squeezing the therapist's hand as hard as he could. I tensed up, wanting to intervene. She was patting at his hand, trying to get him to relax.

"What is it, Spencer?" she asked, her fingers twitching. The young doctor's face was contorting in fear. "What are you seeing?"

"That's enough," I gulped, hurrying over to the couch.

She waved a hand back at me as if to shut me up. "I need you to leave this location now, Spencer," she said as Reid's grip tightened.

"Dammit, wake him up!" I crouched behind his head.

"I'm going to count backward from five," she said. "Five, four, three, two, one, and _wake_!"

Reid's eyes snapped open. He gasped for air, his body shaking as he let go of the therapist. I grabbed his shoulder from behind to calm him down.

"Reid, you're okay," I said, leaning over to grab his other arm as he backed into the corner of the couch, eyes wild with fear. "It's okay. It's okay. I promise. Look at me." His brown eyes met my green ones. "It's okay," I repeated, watching as he calmed down. "What happened? What did you see?"

* * *

Reid had seen his father coming into his room and telling him he loved him while he pretended to sleep. The next day, he had seen his father in the backyard, burning bloody clothing in their backyard fire pit while his mother cried.

I went back to the hotel and Reid drove out to see his mother. While I was taking a shower to decompress, his mother had gotten upset at Reid's questions and had to be sedated to keep her from hitting herself. But before he left, she told him that it could have been him, and that was all she offered.

In the meantime Reid and Morgan had gone to the police station to talk to Detective Hyde, who had worked the original case, and ran into Lou Jenkins, Riley's father. The two agents were able to convince Hyde to let them interrogate William Reid for twenty-four hours tops, but the detective was highly reluctant, claiming he wasn't in the business of ruining people's reputations. Also, Garcia had gotten back to Morgan that Gary Michaels had been off the grid since shortly after Riley Jenkins' murder.

David, Morgan, Reid, and I were in the police station, staring through the window at Reid's father, making him wait for us so that we could make him a little antsy. I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket. Furrowing my brow, I noticed that I had a text from Emily. Figuring that if she had something important to tell me, she'd give me a call, I put my phone away.

"You still think he did it, don't you?" Morgan asked Reid.

"Why shouldn't I?" Reid retorted.

"Well, for one thing, Gary Michaels fits the profile. For another, he fled town after Riley's murder," Morgan said. "He's a better suspect than your dad, Reid."

"He's a convenient one. Someone slipped the file under my door, Morgan," Reid added over his shoulder. "What am I supposed to think?"

"Maybe they're trying to help," David said from my elbow.

"Maybe they're trying to protect him."

"You're talking about someone helping to cover up the murder of a child," David stepped forward. "Who would do that?"

"Do you remember how resistant Detective Hyde was when I asked him to bring in my father?" Reid asked as William got up from the chair and took off his suit jacket.

"So what, you're accusing a cop, now?" I asked.

"It was a police file," Reid pointed out.

"It was a very _old_ police file," I responded. "Anyone could have accessed it."

"He told me to go back to the Fountain View, have a drink by the pool, and think about things."

"You can't possibly still be mad about that," Morgan said, having been there when the detective said it.

"I'm not mad, I'm confused," Reid shook his head. "I never told him we were staying at the Fountain View." Then he stepped over to the door and entered the interrogation room.

I exchanged glances with my other teammates and turned on the speaker so we could hear everything they were saying. Reid confronted his father about the no longer suppressed memory, but his father wasn't biting.

" _It's a simple question. How did the blood get on the clothes?_ " Reid asked again.

" _I told you. I'm not gonna talk without council,_ " William said calmly.

" _If you don't have anything to hide, you don't need a lawyer_."

" _Spencer, please. I'm not stupid. I'm proud of you, you know that?_ "

" _I'm not stupid either_."

" _No, you've…you've done a lot of good_ ," William said as he leaned closer. " _I mean, other people with your talents, they might have sought different opportunities. The private sector. My God, you could have made a fortune … But you chose to help people._ "

" _I chose to study murderers. Why do you think that is?_ "

" _I didn't do this, Spencer. Why can't you believe me?_ "

" _Like you said, I do have special talents. And one of them is being able to tell when somebody's hiding something._ "

" _You're angry that I left. And you're right to be._ "

" _You wanna make it up to me? Tell me the truth_."

William looked at his son, then down at his lap. He was silent for a moment. " _I didn't kill that boy. But I know who did_."

" _Gary Michaels?_ "

" _How'd you know that?_ "

" _That was the whole idea, wasn't it? So where is Gary Michaels now, Dad?_ " Reid demanded.

" _Spencer, please… Forget it. You don't wanna go down this road._ "

Suddenly my phone began buzzing again. I pulled it out and looked at the screen before answering the call.

"What's up, Hotch?" I asked.

David turned off the speaker in the interrogation room and I held my phone out so he and Morgan could hear.

" _JJ has just gone into labor_ ," he said.

"What?" I gasped. That must have been what Emily had texted me about. "But she's not due for three weeks. Is she okay?"

" _Everything's fine. We're checking her in now_ ," Hotch said over the phone. " _And I got a ping back from California on your CODIS query_."

"Did they find Gary Michaels?" I asked.

" _Uh, some of him…_ "

* * *

"Is he dead?" Reid asked as I was reporting back to him in the hallway of the police station.

"They dug him up seven years ago when some new construction broke ground in the desert," I explained.

"Whoever killed him was smart enough to bury him across state lines. Vegas PD never made the connect," David added.

"How was he killed?" Reid asked.

"Judging by the fractures, they think he was beaten with something," Morgan shrugged. "A pipe, maybe."

"Or a bat," David supplemented.

"Bat?" Reid echoed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Detective Hyde, a middle-aged man, escorting William out of the interrogation room. William looked over at us, but didn't say anything before going on his way. Then an idea hit me.

"Maybe it wasn't Riley's blood on those clothes your dad was burning," I suggested.

* * *

"Been rumors a body was buried up at the Barker Ranch for years," said the desk sergeant in the sheriff's station in Inyo County, California, "on account of that's where Chuck Manson had his hideout. When we dug this one up, we went ahead and had him typed. Thought maybe it could be related."

"It's a good thing you did," Morgan said, looking up from the photographs he was looking at. "Might never have ID'd him otherwise."

"So why all the fuss over a dead pervert?" the sergeant asked.

"We think he may have killed a boy in Vegas over twenty years ago," I said, glancing over at David. He was sitting across the table from me, examining his own set of photographs. He had taken his suit jacket off and draped it over the back of his seat. The sleeves of his navy blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows.

"Oh, is that how he ended up in the ground? Revenge?"

"Possibly," David spoke up. "It says here you have a fingerprint in evidence, lifted from the victim's broken glasses."

I looked at the photograph of said glasses that David was holding up.

"Eh, we ran it up the flagpole a couple of times. Nothing ever came up," the sergeant shrugged.

"That was then. Now we have someone to compare it to," Reid said.

"A suspect?" the sergeant got up from where he was sitting and stepped over to Reid, who was standing next to me with his foot on the seat of a chair.

"Well, we're gonna wanna run it through AFIS too," Morgan said, giving Reid a look.

"That's a lot of taxpayer dollars being spent to solve a public service murder," the sergeant criticized. "If you ask me, the guy got just what he deserved," he added, leaving the room.

"He's right, you know," David stood up. "We don't have to run this print."

"Of course we do. Whatever Michaels did, he deserved a fair trial," Reid said.

"Reid, you wanted to know if your father killed Riley. All signs point to no," Morgan told him. "You got what you need."

"What I need is the truth."

"If this print belongs to your dad, he could go away for a long time," I reminded him, also standing up. "You're just determined to nail him, aren't you? It doesn't even matter what for."

Reid gave me a hard look in the eyes. "If you don't wanna run it, I will."

* * *

We returned to the Fountain View and sat near a bar upstairs. Morgan was pacing, while Reid was nervously bouncing his leg next to me on the couch. I had curled myself up, knees to my chest, and watched as David wrote in his little notepad.

Then Morgan's phone started ringing. He checked the caller ID and it must have been the results on the print. He exchanged glances with Reid and sighed before answering the phone.

"Yeah, Agent Morgan…" Derek looked over at Spencer. "You did?"

Reid stood up in anticipation.

"You're a hundred percent certain? … Okay … Thank you," Morgan closed the phone and looked at the younger agent. "We're gonna have to get an arrest warrant."

My eyebrows shot up.

"It was a match?" Reid asked.

"Yeah," Morgan nodded. "But it wasn't your dad."

* * *

Morgan pulled into the construction site and we all piled out of the Suburban to apprehend Lou Jenkins. As I was walking around the vehicle, a smaller black car also pulled up.

"We got company," Morgan said.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Reid asked as Detective Hyde stepped out of the car.

"We notified your captain about this, detective," David started walking towards him. "It's all legit."

"I'm not tryin' to stop you. I just wanna be the one to bring him in," Hyde explained, standing in front of us as if to block us from the killer, who stood a ways away, showing his construction workers a blue print on the bed of a pickup truck. "I-It'll go easier." Hyde looked over his shoulder. Lou Jenkins was giving us all a look. "He's my friend."

"Yeah, we figured that much," Reid snarked. "You, Lou, my father."

"You slipped us the Michaels file, didn't you?" David accused.

"You were after the wrong guy," Hyde said.

"But you knew who the right guy was all along," I said, lifting my aviators onto the top of my head. "And what Lou did to him."

"There wasn't any evidence."

"Did you even look?" Reid asked.

I noticed that Lou was standing alone by his truck now, his workers having gone away.

"You wanna link him up, go ahead," Morgan nodded to Lou. "But he rides in with us."

"Appreciate that," Hyde said before walking over to his friend. Lou seemed to know what was happening as he met Hyde in the middle.

* * *

Reid and Morgan were in the middle of interrogating Lou when Hyde interrupted, bringing in both William _and_ Diana Reid. Diana had intentionally gone off her medication to provide herself a moment of clarity so she could properly remember what had happened.

She had been concerned about Gary Michaels when he approached a young Spencer Reid and played a game of chess with him in the park. She knew what his intentions were and called Lou to tell him about it. Lou, having had a feeling that Gary had been behind his son's murder, had called Diana up to meet him and confirm that Gary was the one who had talked to Spencer. Lou told Diana to leave, but she watched him as he took a bat out of the back of his truck and entered Gary's house. Diana followed him in a little while afterwards and saw the aftermath. She had slipped in Gary's blood and gotten it all over her clothes. When she came home, William figured out what happened and helped to cover it up—burning her bloody clothes. The weight of knowing what had occurred had resulted in the termination of their marriage.

All I could think of on the flight back was JJ. I hoped her delivery had gone smoothly. I knew that was the first stop I was going to make when we got back to Virginia. David and Morgan said they would come later, so as not to overcrowd the media liaison. Reid and I ended up carpooling to the hospital.

"…as long as he doesn't inherit the accent," Emily said from inside as we came to the door.

"Is there room for two more?" I asked, knocking on the doorjamb. The room was occupied by Hotch, Garcia, Emily, Will, and, of course, the mother and her baby.

"Hunter, Spence, hi," JJ looked up at us, a beautiful little boy cradled in her arms.

"Welcome back," Hotch said before I snuck over to stand between Emily and Garcia.

"Wow," Reid said, looking down at the baby.

"Dear God, please tell me his name isn't William LaMontagne III," I whispered in Emily's ear, referring to the plan Will had laid out for me in New York. Emily snickered, but didn't say anything else.

"Congratulations," Reid shook Will's hand.

"Thank you," Will drawled.

"He's gorgeous, you guys," I smiled down at the sleeping baby. "Good job. Good genes."

"All the good genes come from mama," Will gave JJ a loving look, stroking her blonde hair.

JJ rolled her eyes playfully and looked up at Reid. "How is it that I just went through fifteen hours of labor and _you_ look worse than I do?" she chuckled.

"Don't be ridiculous. You look beautiful," Reid assured her.

JJ smiled and glanced up at Will, who got the hint.

"Well, I could sure use, uh, some coffee. Anyone else?" Will asked.

"Sure," Hotch whispered.

"My treat."

I frowned, lamenting that I had _just_ gotten there. But I had a feeling JJ had something important to talk to Reid about in private, so I stepped out of the hospital room along with everyone else.

"So, uh, Will," I said, resting an elbow on the new father's shoulder when we got in line for coffee. "What did you guys decide on?"

"Pardon?" he asked.

"What's my new favorite baby's name?" I asked, removing my elbow.

"Oh," he nodded and gave me a smile. "Henry."

* * *

 **This ended up being waaaaaay longer than I realized, but you guys deserve it for being so patient with me!**

 **Small edit 12-23-17: I** **accidentally referred to a mimosa as a samosa somehow? Maybe I had Indian food on the mind when I was writing that? How embarrassing…**


	20. Masterpiece

**_"Ugh," Emily Prentiss_** _groaned, leaning back in her chair, her head dangling backwards._

 _"You good there, girlfriend?" Hunter asked, grinning at her with one eyebrow cocked._

 _"I'm so tired of being at this desk, doing reports," Prentiss said, sitting up and swiveling to face me._

 _"Same," Hunter nodded, picking up her Koosh ball and tossing it over to the other brunette over the partition between their desks._

 _"I never thought I'd say this, but I would_ kill _to be giving that presentation at Strayer right now," Prentiss said, tossing it back. The oldest and youngest members of the BAU were speaking in front of a criminal justice class, trying to reel in some new recruits. Rossi was there because of his credibility. Reid was there because of his young face._

 _"Careful with the k-word—we_ are _in the FBI headquarters, after all," Hunter stage-whispered, passing her the ball again._

 _Prentiss laughed silently to herself, tugging at the strings on the ball before resuming their game._

 _"I'm with you, though. I would much rather be with Reid and David," Hunter said in a normal voice. Hunter's cheeks suddenly became a little rosier and her eyes widened a little, as if she had just said something she didn't mean to._

 _"_ David _?" Prentiss gave her a look. "That's awfully familiar, isn't it?"_

 _"Did I say David?" Hunter shook her head and looked down at her computer. "I totally meant to say Rossi."_

 _"But you didn't," Prentiss threw the ball at her, hitting her in the forehead._

 _"Ow! Why are you making such a big deal out of it?" Hunter asked defensively, catching the ball as it bounced off her face._

 _"_ Someone is defleeeecting _," Prentiss sang. "_ And her name is Huuunter _."_

 _"It's not completely unheard of to call your co-workers by their first names," Hunter looked at Prentiss. "You call me Hunter, I call you Emily."_

 _"Yeah, but we're best friends—you told me so yourself," Prentiss cocked her head._

 _"Yeah, when I thought I was dying," Hunter muttered, looking up at the ceiling as she slumped in her seat, tossing the ball up in the air to herself absentmindedly._

 _"Hey, wait—are you replacing me with Rossi as your best friend?" Prentiss feigned offense._

 _"Yeah, he's coming over tonight. We're gonna paint our toenails and do homemade face masks," Hunter deadpanned, giving Prentiss a look. She dropped the ball on her desk and sat up, cracking her neck._

 _"Ooh, can we actually do that soon? I need a pedicure, STAT."_

 _"What the hell are you ladies talking about?" Morgan asked, sliding into his seat. He had gone upstairs to wait outside of JJ's office, listening to her temporary replacement's first consultation. His plan was to help her out if she stumbled._

 _"Tell me, Mr. Knight-In-Shining-Armor," Hunter held up a fist to her mouth, pretending to be a news reporter with a microphone, "did Ms. Damsel-In-Distress appreciate you slaying that dragon for her?"_

 _"I think you need to go home and take a nap, Mick," Morgan scoffed, giving Hunter a look. "Sleep this crazy off."_

 _"Talk about deflecting," Hunter bounced her eyebrows at Prentiss._

 _"Ooh, looks like you only succeeding in pissing her off," Prentiss tsked, nodding up at Agent Todd, who was storming her way down the hall to Hotch's office. "Oh, shit, I just remembered, he needed to see me. Let's hope she doesn't burn his office down in a Derek-Morgan's-hubris induced rage."_

 _"Godspeed," Hunter saluted as Prentiss stood up._

* * *

I could not stop kicking myself for calling David by his first name. The second I said it, I knew Emily would notice. And call me out on it. Which she did.

And I had been doing so well…

"Yo, look who they're bringing in," Morgan whispered loudly, snapping to get my attention. "I think it's _the_ Colonel Sanders."

I followed his eyeline to the glass doors that separated the bullpen from the hall outside. Reid was leading the way as David marched a short and stout man with long silver hair, glasses, and a finely trimmed mustache and goatee. The man was also wearing an off-white suit.

"No, no, I think that's the long-lost Brother Gibb," I said, unable to contain my grin. Morgan shook his head, laughing.

" _Earlier this morning, police were contacted and informed that Kaylee Robinson, who ran a daycare center out of her home, had been abducted when a parent arrived at 9:30 this morning to drop off her child. She discovered the door was open…_ "

"What's going on?" Reid murmured, looking up at the TV screen that was blaring the news story.

I looked around and saw that everyone in the bullpen had stopped to stare. The smile on my face disappeared, realizing that this guy probably had something to do with it.

"He said there were five more victims we could save?" Hotch asked, coming out of his office and gesturing to the man in the suit.

"A woman was abducted in Loretto, Virginia. She runs a home daycare center. She had four children with her," Todd said. She and Emily were standing not far away from us.

"They're all missing," I said, looking up at Reid from my desk.

"All five," Morgan stared at the TV.

"Are those the five more?" David asked down at the man.

I wondered what this whole 'five more' thing was all about.

"Are you pissed off yet, David?" he asked in a smarmy voice.

Instead of answering, Rossi roughly re-adjusted his grip on the man and brought him upstairs.

* * *

Apparently this man had come to see David and Reid's presentation, claiming himself to be _Professor Rothchild_. He gave the two agents a stack of photographs, saying that he had killed seven women—mentioning something about acid—and saying that there were five more that would die in nine hours' time, provided we didn't find them. And we decided our best way of finding them was by reverse-profiling the sonofabitch.

"I went through ViCAP. There are literally _thousands_ of open missing women cases across the country," Garcia said as we were all gathered in the round table room.

"It's not the entire country, though. Kaylee was abducted at 9:30 this morning. He had time to take them somewhere, hide them, _and_ bring them to Fredericksburg two hours later," Reid said, carrying his mug to the coffeemaker.

"He'd need a place with a lot of privacy to hide five victims," Emily pointed out.

"A house," Hotch suggested as he paced.

"He's local," David said.

"He was late for the presentation. You know, it was more like two and a half hours after the abduction," Reid corrected himself. "He got there around noon, which puts him somewhere in that radius."

"Garcia, work up a map. I need the furthest point he could have taken Kaylee from Loretto and still gotten back to Fredericksburg by noon," Hotch ordered.

"Shouldn't be too hard," Garcia chirped.

"All right," David stood up. "What do we know so far?" I watched as he went to our clear dry-erase board, bending down to grab a marker and start writing. "He's, uh, obsessively neat and clean. He did research on Reid and me, at least. He's abducted five people and then gets to a scheduled recruitment session at a specific time. That's extensive pre-planning."

"Garcia, did you find anything in those pictures, Garcia?" Reid asked. I wondered if the amount of sugar he put in his coffee had anything to do with him saying her name twice.

"I can't even positively say they're dead," Penelope raised a hand palm-up.

"What about hair color?" David turned and looked at her.

"Of the ones that _show_ hair, they appear to be brunettes," Garcia told him.

"So is Kaylee," I murmured, absentmindedly toying with a strand of my own hair.

David looked at me and nodded slowly, as if he was in thought.

"I'll start there. Brunettes from central Virginia that are missing," Garcia said as she scribbled into her notebook.

"Ident got zip on his prints," Morgan said as he came into the room. "He's not in any system—he's a ghost."

"All right. If he hasn't been fingerprinted, he hasn't been arrested. Which also means he hasn't had a passport, driver's license, or been in the military," David spouted off.

"Or been a teacher," I mused, thinking of my brother Rick. "Wait—didn't he call himself _Professor_? You need to be fingerprinted to teach."

"So he's a professor who doesn't teach," David turned back to the board.

"What kind of professor doesn't teach?" Agent Jordan Todd asked.

"A researcher. Someone on a grant, maybe," Reid told her.

"Yeah, a grant would give him the time," Hotch said.

"There must be some sort of central grant database. I can't imagine the government just handing out money and not che—" Garcia waved a hand and stopped herself. "I'll look into it."

"All right, from past conversations, we know he's a narcissist and seemingly remorseless," David said as Garcia exited the room.

"Psychopath," Morgan said from his spot right behind me.

"You know, we can eliminate a lot of these open missing persons cases if we could just figure out how he met them," Emily said.

"Jordan, contact the Loretto PD and get us invitation to consult on the, uh, Kaylee Robinson case. Be nice to them. They don't have to let us," Hotch said to the beautiful black woman next to him. "And then you and Morgan go down there and find out what you can."

I gnawed on the inside of my lip and exchanged glances with Emily. Todd and Morgan had a weird tension between them from the get-go, and now after she felt like Morgan had condescended to her by helping her in the consultation earlier… 'Hoo' is all I had to say.

"Let's go," Morgan said, gesturing to the door. Todd silently followed him out.

"McCarthy, I need you to do something for me," David said, looking down at me.

"Yeah, of course, _Rossi_ ," I said, giving Emily a sidelong glance as I stood up from my seat.

"Yes, what's our strategy going to be in there with the interrogation—?"

"You're not gonna be in the room," David interrupted Reid.

"What do you mean?" the doctor asked. He almost sounded hurt.

"That's what he wants. He wants to play with you. We have to knock him off his game. That's all we have right now," David explained.

"He's right," Hotch said.

David turned to look in my eyes and cocked his head, telling me to follow him as he left the round table room.

* * *

After explaining his plan to me, David entered the interrogation room. He told me to stand outside and wait. David wasn't even in the room for more than a minute before the door opened and I came face-to-face with Professor Rothchild. He was holding his neatly folded suit jacket in his hands, looking quite pleased with himself at first. Then he noticed me and stiffened up, immediately averting his eyes from mine. He was breathing heavily.

"Agent McCarthy, this is Professor Rothchild," David said in a faux-friendly voice.

I faked a smile. "May I?" I asked, reaching for his suit jacket. Rothchild jerked backwards, but I got a hold of the jacket and laid it over my arms.

"Oh, a god like you doesn't have a problem with women, does he?" David asked.

"Do I make you nervous?" I asked, watching as Rothchild folded his arms and backed himself into the corner, refusing to look at me. I stepped closer to the man on my way to stand near where David was casually seated.

"It's okay, Agent, I think we have everything we need to know. This is not a man who can confront a woman on equal footing," David stared right at Rothchild. "He sneaks up on them. Gets them from behind. Blitz attacks. The original seven victims—oh, they were _alone_ when they came up missing. They had a routine and he watched them. Hiding in the weeds like a snake. Like…a coward."

Rothchild glanced at David, then looked away. I also looked at David, who offered me a small smile before nodding to the door to dismiss me. I bit back my own smile, placing the jacket on the tabletop. Then I waved at Rothchild before leaving the interrogation room.

" _…waste of precious time_ ," Rothchild said, stepping away from the corner.

I was standing at the window, watching the rest of the interrogation in the room with Reid.

" _Oh, it's all part of the game, now, isn't it?_ " David asked.

" _You think you know what game we're playing, David?_ " Rothchild asked, pacing around with his watch in his hands. " _You aren't even able to grasp what questions to ask._ "

I hated how he was talking to him—trying to make David sound like he was stupid. How I wished that Rothchild could see me staring daggers into him. I hated him enough for what he did to those women, on top of what he was doing to Kaylee and her daycare kids. Add on to that disrespecting my man…

" _Such as_?" David asked, taking it all in stride.

" _How about asking what the rules are, David?_ " Rothchild continued to fiddle with his watch. Then he placed it on the table in front of Rossi. " _Two o'clock_."

We only had eight hours left to save the five abductees.

" _And then there were four_ ," Rothchild said in his smug voice. " _I told you that in less than ten hours another five people would be dead. I never said they would die at the same time. I wonder which one it was—the woman or one of those precious babies._ "

I felt a lump in my throat at his words.

" _Heh, you have to know the rules to play the game, David_ ," Rothchild continued. " _Every two hours, one of them will die. In the end…they will all be gone_ ," he dragged out the last words in a soft voice.

" _Is there something else I need to know?_ " David asked.

Rothchild leaned down, his hands on the table. " _Only that I'm rooting for you…David_."

* * *

"He said one of them is already dead," Reid burst out as he, David, and I entered Garcia's office.

"One of the five," David said.

"There are only three children," Hotch said as we joined them at the computer.

Hotch, Emily, and the tech analyst herself had already been in the office, looking at the still photography on one of the computers. There was a camera in the chamber where Kaylee and the kids were, taking a picture every second and uploading it to Garcia. They were all wearing gas masks that hung from the ceiling and they were all evenly spaced out. And like Hotch said, there were only three children. The lump in my throat grew bigger.

"This is them?" I asked, hoping it was all an elaborate prank and that there wasn't a dead kid on our hands.

"An anonymous site emailed to me," Garcia explained.

"He said one will die every two hours—not all five in ten," David sighed. "When he said ten hours, I just assumed…"

"It's a chess game, he's two moves ahead," Reid said.

"Let's not get diverted," Hotch told us. "How we doing with the seven missing women?"

Garcia typed on her keyboard and a bunch of pictures of missing women came up. "Huh, uh, so far I've got thirty-nine missing brunettes in central Virginia."

"Okay, thirty years-old like Kaylee. Uh, narcissists tend to be extremely preferential."

Garcia typed again and less pictures appeared on her screen. "Twenty-eight."

"He said he's been working on this for five years," I piped up.

"Over the last five years," Garcia started typing, "…seventeen."

"All right. If he thinks he's going to jail, for even one of the original seven homicides, maybe he'll tell us where the rest of them are and give himself some deal room," Hotch said, spoken like a real former prosecutor. He headed for the door. "How long do we have until the next one?"

Reid looked at his watch, "One hour, forty-eight minutes."

"Dave, can I speak to you for a second?" Hotch asked.

"Sorry," David mumbled to me.

"It's okay," I muttered back.

He had _accidentally_ bumped into me on his way over, squeezing my hand on his way to Hotch. I gulped, holding my hand to my chest as he followed our unit chief out of the door. I wondered if he did that for my benefit or for his.

* * *

"Margaret Peters, another Gloucester Point," I said, looking into the file. "Disappeared in 2006 on her way to work. Last seen at the coffee shop she went to every morning."

"Check," Garcia said, scribbling down on the clear board.

"That's number six, we need one more," Reid said.

We continued looking at files as Garcia's laptop in the round table room blipped. Reid stepped over to look at still images that were popping up.

"She put herself closest to the end, farthest from the camera," Reid said. I got up from my seat and saw it for myself. Kaylee had switched spots with one of the children.

"Why?" Emily asked.

"Maybe she knows something we don't. Like she doesn't have a lot of time," Hotch speculated. "Let's continue."

"Uh, Lindsay Connor," Emily reported from her file. "She was last seen when she stepped out to have a cigarette while having a blown tire fixed."

"Doesn't sound like something routine," Reid shook his head.

"Lisa McDaniel, Saluda, went missing early 2008 while on her daily jog," Hotch said.

"Oh, she fits," Garcia went back to the board.

"That's seven. Including Kaylee, that makes eight," I said, watching as the pictures on the screen rearranged so the eight we narrowed down to were the only ones showing.

"Whoa," Emily raised her eyebrows.

"They're all incredibly beautiful," Hotch commented.

"Almost unnaturally," Reid added.

"What are the chances that three out of our seven victims are from the same town?" Garcia looked back at us.

"What's the population of Saluda?" Emily asked, noticing the pattern.

"Middlesex County is small, but it's near water. A lot of people have boats there and weekend homes," Reid told us.

"And two from Gloucester Point," I pointed out.

Reid's phone beeped and he got a picture text message. "Morgan just sent this to me from the Robinson house," he said, displaying the picture of a bunch of daycare toys arranged in a perfect circle with a vertical line splitting down the middle. Then Reid got a look on his face that showed he was having an epiphany of sorts. "Perfection," he whispered to himself, going to the board.

Emily and I exchanged glances as we watched Reid write something on the board. Then he seemed to look right through it, his analytical mind going wild.

"One, one, two, three, five," he muttered to himself, drawing the circle with a line over it on top of our list of names.

"Does that mean something?" I cocked a brow. But instead of offering an explanation, the young doctor scurried out of the room. "What the hell?"

"Garcia, can you put a map of Virginia up on the screen?" Reid asked over his shoulder, the tech analyst and David in his wake as he re-entered the round table room.

I stood up as Garcia put her laptop down on the table and Reid pushed the board off to the side.

"It's an irrational number known as 'phi'. It's based on the ratio of line segments to each other and of the whole," Reid explained. "I-It's called the golden ratio."

"Golden Rat—that's the web address," Garcia said. "Golden rat dot net."

I felt a presence at my elbow and glanced to see that David had walked all around the back of the room to stand near me. I bit down a smile.

"It's a ratio found all through life. In fact, many people that we find conventionally attractive are proportioned based on that ratio," Reid said. He began to gesture to David. "He-He, uh, he made a reference to Leonardo da Vinci, remember this? Da Vinci used it in a lot of his paintings. A matter of fact, _The Last Supper_ —"

"Reid," Hotch interrupted. "Reid, how do we find them?"

"Right," Reid said, holding up a pendant in his hands that no doubt came from Rothchild. "The whole concept is represented by this pendant, including the logarithmic spiral created by using a Fibonacci sequence. Follow me on this." He turned to the big screen. "We-We can manipulate this image, right?"

"Tell me what you need," Garcia nodded.

"Pull up all the towns that the missings are from."

The town names showed up on the map of Virginia.

"Wonderful," Reid said. The he began pointing to the towns. "We had one in Richmond, one in Dinwiddie, then two in Gloucester Point, and three in Saluda, and finally five in Loretto this morning." Reid turned back to us. "One, one, two, three, five is a Fibonacci series. Each number added to the number added to the number before it. I-I-It's what his tics mean."

Rothchild had been noticed tapping his thumbs together in a strange way.

"He's subconsciously counting off the Fibonacci sequence in his head, over and over again," Reid continued. "Now, geometrically, it can be expressed as a spiral," he held up the pendant again. "It's called a logarithmic spiral. Can you put the spiral on the map? Thanks. Okay, now flip it a hundred and eighty degrees. Now make it bigger. Bigger. Just a little, little bit bigger. Stop, stop, stop!"

Garcia clicked on her computer and the spiral was superimposed on the map, matching up to the towns in question. Reid got closer to the map, looking through the pendant.

"The pendant is like a key," he said. "Chester, Virginia."

"You're sure?" David asked, stepping past me and Emily before me.

"With his level of obsession with these numbers, the ratio will have permeated his entire life. If we took a city map of Chester, the location where Kaylee and her children are being held will follow one of these points on that map as well. The ratio works with any scale at all," Reid told him.

"Morgan and Todd are closer. Call them and tell them to get to Chester. I'm gonna get a chopper ready. Reid, Prentiss, and McCarthy, get a city map and you're with me," Hotch said as he started leaving the room.

"Actually, I need McCarthy to stay with me, to help again," David called out, glancing at me. I nodded.

"Whatever you need," Hotch said without breaking his speed.

"There's still something…bugging me about this," David said, looking at the map.

* * *

"Watch outside," David told me. "If I need you, I'll signal you."

"Right, of course," I nodded. Without thinking, I reached out and gave his arm a squeeze.

David looked down at my hand, then back at my face, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Then I let go and went to the room to watch from behind the window. Garcia was also in the room, preparing to record everything.

Rothchild was sitting, staring at his wristwatch. He had curled the band so it made a small spiral, a smirk on his face. Then David entered the room.

" _Chester, Virginia_ ," he said to the short man.

" _What?_ " Rothchild looked up at him, his smirk wiped from his face.

" _Most of the team is going there_."

" _I see_."

" _They'll be there before four o'clock; before the next deadline. You lose_."

Rothchild was silent.

" _Explain something to me. This is all about a geometric pattern?_ "

" _Phi is much more than a geometric pattern, David_ ," Rothchild said as he fastened the watch on his wrist.

" _Killing all those women—Kaylee Robinson, the first seven_ ," David paced around the table. " _You killed them because they were beautiful?_ "

" _You mean, hypothetically?_ "

" _Well, I-I'm just trying to understand this math thing_ ," David said, playing up how stupid Rothchild clearly thought he was.

" _All animals desperately need a way to detect others of their species. Dogs have scent, dolphins have sound. Golden ratio is a subconscious identifier of human perfectness. If I had done all these things, it wouldn't be because they were beautiful. It would be because they were perfect examples of humanity._ "

" _Because they're human_."

" _Hypothetically speaking_."

" _This doesn't make any sense to me. Killing a human_ because _they're human?_ "

Rothchild sighed. " _Do you know what_ homo sapiens sapiens _actually means, David? Its literal translation?_ "

" _No_."

" _Man, wise, wise. Think about that. We named ourselves doubly wise. We are twice as wise as every other creature on the planet. The hubris, the arrogance…_ "

"Pot, meet kettle," I muttered under my breath. Garcia giggled.

" _Humans are a blight. We should all be eradicated_."

" _You hate humanity?_ " David asked.

" _Every bit as much as you do_."

" _I don't hate humanity_."

" _I told you, I read all of your books. It's in there, every one of them._ Your _hatred. Your first book, chapter three, page eighty-nine; one, three, eighty-nine,_ " Rothchild tapped his thumbs. " _All Fibonacci numbers. 'The first time I saw one of William Grace's victims, I knew I was looking at the residue of pure evil. I would never again feel completely safe around a human being'._ "

" _This is all about my_ books _?_ " David sat down.

" _Like you, I know exactly what human beings are capable of._ "

" _I can hate the things people do, but have pity for who they are._ "

" _Pity? You_ pity _them?_ " Rothchild stood up and started pacing, himself.

" _Any man who feels that the only way to have power or purpose is to hurt others_ deserves _pity_."

" _Your fifth book, chapter thirteen, page one-forty-four. 'I know it makes little sense to try and deter violence with more violence, but deterrence is not why I believe in the death penalty. There are some people that are so violent, so evil, that society has no choice but to be done with them. Vengeance is something that society needs from time to time, if for no other purpose than to keep the rest of us sane'. Where is the_ pity _?_ "

I got an interesting text message from Reid at that moment. I left the room and opened the door to the interrogation room. Rothchild jerked away at the sight of me yet again.

"They found the house," I looked at David. "You were right. They're going inside now."

"Thank you," David gave me a tight-lipped smile and I made my exit.

" _'Vengeance…keeps us…sane'_ ," Rothchild quoted slowly. " _What a fascinating statement. You may have your vengeance. As I am about to have…mine._ "

" _What?_ " David whispered, playing along.

" _They're never going to make it out of that house, David_ ," Rothchild said in his most condescending voice. " _It was never about that perfect woman. Or those wonderful children. It was about your team. Your merry band of five_." I wondered if he was counting Jordan instead of me in this statement. " _They…complete…my sequence._ "

David, feigning horror, stood up and got to the speaker. " _McCarthy, get Hotch on the phone—_ now _!_ "

" _It's too late, David,_ " Rothchild stepped closer to him. " _The minute they stepped into that house, they were dead. I knew if I kept prodding you that you would rise to my challenge_."

I pressed on the speaker. "Hotch isn't answering," I said in my most scared-sounding voice. I winked back at Garcia.

" _Try Morgan_."

" _I knew…that you would insist on being in the room alone with me; that you would try to beat me. I knew you would send them all out there_."

"No, nothing," I added, faking panic.

" _Try Prentiss or Reid! It's a trap—stop them!_ "

" _But you're not just filled with hatred, David_ ," Rothchild said calmly. " _You're also filled with arrogance. Hubris, just like every other human being. Just like me._ "

"I can't reach anyone!" I said.

" _Try again!_ " David snapped.

" _They're never going to answer._ You _lose_."

David looked at Rothchild as he backed away from the speaker. " _Why? What did I ever do?_ "

" _William Grace_ ," Rothchild said over David's shoulder. " _The man you called the face of pure evil. My brother._ "

Not expecting that, I raised my eyebrows. Having also read David's books, I remembered him writing about that sick serial killer.

" _My life ended the day you arrested him. Every time people talked about William Grace, they always talked about his parents and his brother Henry. Because no one could believe that anyone that evil could possibly hide in the darkness. Surely someone must have seen, someone must have known—surely his own brother_ ," Rothchild paced around. " _I had a fiancée, David. A beautiful woman. A_ perfect _woman. She sent the ring back to me. She said she was afraid to give it to me in person. She was afraid of me._ "

" _She was a brunette,_ " David said.

" _So then I started getting these thoughts, these ideas, these images in my head. I couldn't, I couldn't escape them. And then…I realized…my brother hadn't been alone in the darkness. I share the same genetics you so casually dismiss_."

Earlier, David had scoffed when Rothchild said he had an extra chromosome that made him a killer.

" _I started a second life. No one knew. But something was missing. I couldn't figure it out. And then…David Rossi, the man that ruined my life. And suddenly, I knew what it was that was missing. Because_ you _had written it. Vengeance. Vengeance._ "

David sat down slowly, appearing lost in thought. " _You murdered all those women just because of me?_ "

Rothchild leaned into David's ear. I could barely hear his response.

" _That's right. I killed twelve people…'cause of you. You took my family. I take yours_ ," Rothchild said, smirking as he backed away.

" _Did you get all that?_ " David suddenly asked, not even turning around.

"Yes, we did," I grinned into the speaker as Garcia ejected her recorder from the machine.

"Every word, boss," Garcia added.

" _Well, make copies before we give it to the US attorney. This might make a pretty good teaching aid_ ," David said, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket.

"Yes, sir," Garcia said, walking off as David started dialing a number on his phone.

" _Teaching?_ " Rothchild asked.

" _Yeah, uh, I teach interrogation at the FBI Academy_ ," David told him, holding his phone up to his ear. " _Hotch_ …" David turned in his seat and stared straight at Rothchild. " _McCarthy said I got it right? … And what about Kaylee and the kids? … Oh, no, that was Reid who figured out his obsession with those numbers. He wasn't about to kill ten people this afternoon. That's not in the pattern … Took some doing. Thank you,_ " David hung up. " _You'd be charged with kidnapping, but Kaylee and the kids, they're all safe. You'll only face the murder charges on the original seven women._ "

" _With no evidence?_ " Rothchild challenged.

" _Yeah_ ," David stood up, towering over the man. " _You, uh, you mentioned that when we first met._ " He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his suit jacket and smoothing out his facial hair, giving me a wink. " _That we would never be able to get you on those. I think you'll discover that the videotaped confession has the power to move a lot of jurors_."

Rothchild stood there fuming as David approached the door. But then he whipped around and screamed, lunging at David and grabbing his shoulders. I ran to the door and burst into the interrogation room.

I didn't realize I had stopped breathing until I saw David pinning Rothchild to the window on the other side of the room. He must have smashed him into it face-first before I got there because Rothchild's glasses lay broken on the ground.

"You waited until I turned my back, didn't you, Henry?" David asked over the shorter man's heavy breathing. "Just like you did with those women."

Rothchild tried to pry his arm away from his throat, but David got a hold of him, re-pinning him to the window.

" _Don't_ give me a reason to hurt you!" David shouted, pushing him into the window a little more. "And one more thing—I'm going to be there when they strap you down for that lethal injection. And _just_ before they hit the plunger, I'm gonna lean in _real_ close and tell you," David leaned into Rothchild's ear, but I could still hear his threat, "to say hello to your scumbag brother."

David shoved him one more time before getting off of him. He glared at the man as he walked towards me, putting his hand on my shoulder to direct me out in front of him.


	21. Hot Apple Cider

**Capping the bottle,** I carefully stretched my legs out on the coffee table in my apartment. I flexed my feet, admiring the dark purple paint adorning my toenails. Beside me on the couch was Emily, painting hers black.

"One never truly leaves their goth phase, do they?" I grinned at her.

"Fuck you," Emily said, trying not to laugh.

Not too long ago, Garcia had unearthed Emily's senior high school picture. She looked like she used to perform with the Cure. Oh, how we all laughed.

"It's okay, my darling," I patted her on the shoulder. "Class of '97 right here. You'd best _believe_ I rocked the grunge look in my day."

"Did you wear chokers and flannel shirts?"

"Only, like, every day," I chuckled. "Always hoping that for some reason, Eddie Vedder or Dave Grohl would come to Lexington and take me away."

"It's so funny," Emily said, touching up the big toe on her left foot. "We thought we were so distressed back then. _Mom said I can't go out—life is over_. Now all we see is death and depravity and sometimes we don't even blink an eye."

I nodded solemnly, thinking about Cassandra. I looked at Emily. She didn't talk about her past that much, so I had no idea if she'd had her own childhood trauma. Most of us did, which played a big part in us coming to the BAU. But I couldn't fault her in keeping mum. As a man I greatly respected once said, we're all entitled to our own secrets.

"I heard Rossi kicked Rothchild's ass today," Emily said, capping the black polish.

"Oh, you mean Henry Grace's ass?" I cocked a brow. "Yeah. Verbally. Even a little physically. It was pretty awesome to see him at work like that."

"I bet," Emily wiggle her eyebrows at me.

I glared at her as I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my hands. We were sitting on my couch in our pajamas. Me in a hooded pullover and spandex capris, Emily in a tank-top with a pair of linen shorts. She was going to spend the night in my spare bedroom.

"You guys never give up, do you?" I asked. "You and Morgan, always trying to slander me. This is how rumors get started."

"You can't tell me you wouldn't hook up with him if you had the chance."

The bottom of my stomach fell out and I tried very hard to fake a convincing laugh.

"You're funny, Prentiss. You're _very_ funny," I rolled my eyes.

"We only tease you because you make it so easy," Emily leaned her head against my shoulder. "Don't worry. We know you wouldn't do anything. Besides, even if you _did_ , I'd be the first to know."

 _I am_ officially _the worst shit-heel on earth_ , I thought to myself. I felt pressure over my heart. It would've been so easy to just tell her right then and there, to get this off my chest. I was pretty sure that Emily would have kept it secret, but David said we could never be too certain.

"Speaking of rumors," I said as my friend nuzzled into my arm, "we'd better be careful about this snuggling. A little bird told me someone was trying to start a rumor that we're having a lesbian affair."

"You're kidding," Emily laughed.

"I wish I was," I smirked, remembering David's idea.

"Let them think that," Emily said, putting my arm around her. "I personally think Sapphic assumptions are the mark of a great friendship."

I shook my head and snickered.

* * *

 _David Rossi watched as Hunter walked ahead of him in the aisle at the grocery store. They were spending the weekend at his cabin after solving a case in Atlanta where a man was picking up women from clubs with sleazy tricks, disemboweling them, and making them clean up their own mess._

 _"We should get some apple cider," Hunter muttered, opening up the refrigerator and grabbing a half-gallon of the beverage._

 _"Whatever you want," David told her as she put it in the basket hooked around her forearm._

 _"Hot apple cider on a cold fall night is probably one of the best things I've ever experienced," she said, turning her catlike green eyes to look at him._

 _He loved the nostalgic smile on her beautiful face. David had never enjoyed grocery shopping as much as he did this day, walking around with her in a town where no one knew they were co-workers. Where he could take note of how cute she looked in the maroon sweater without worrying that Hotch would see his wandering eyes._

 _"Your New England is showing, McCarthy," Hunter mumbled to herself, blushing a little._

 _"Please," David encouraged. He stepped closer to her to wrap an arm around her waist and place a kiss on her temple. "Show me New England."_

 _"Be cahful what ya wish foh," Hunter said in a very forced accent._

* * *

"When's your birthday?" David asked me.

We were on his couch, enjoying the roaring fire. He was sitting with his back to the arm, one knee raised against the back of the couch, one foot on the ground. I was leaning against him with my back to his chest and my legs spread down the length of the couch.

"Not for a while," I shrugged. "It's in Spring."

"So is mine," he said, putting his mug of cider on the small table behind him. "May ninth."

"Ooh, good to know," I smirked, grabbing his hand that was resting along the back of the couch and absentmindedly playing with his fingers.

"That's classified information," David told me in a voice that meant he was barely joking. "I don't want Garcia throwing any surprise parties."

"Duly noted," I replied.

"And you?" David asked, stroking my hair with his free hand.

"I am turning the ripe old age of thirty on April twenty-seventh," I admitted.

I felt David's body stiffen behind me. He stopped touching my hair. I sat up and turned around. He was staring down at his chest.

"You okay?" I asked, tucking my feet underneath me.

"My, uh…my son's birthday is the day before yours," he said quietly.

I felt a pang in my heart. "I didn't know you had any children."

"He would be one day older than you."

" _Would_?" I repeated gently.

"He didn't make it."

"David, I'm so…" I choked out. "I'm so sorry."

I put my arms around him, feeling his face in the curve of my neck. After a moment, his hands found their way to my back. He pulled me closer to him so that my body moved with his every deep breath. We stayed like that for a while. Then David grabbed my legs and drew them around his waist so that I was straddling him. He sat up on the couch, removing his face from my neck and looking up at me with his watery eyes. It was rare to see him this vulnerable.

"You're sweet, Hunter," he offered me a tight-lipped smile.

"I try," I shrugged, putting one of my hands on his cheek.

"And you're sure…that you want this?" he asked.

"Want what?" I furrowed my brow.

"I'm old enough to be your father. This just confirms it."

"Do you see me running?"

David looked away from me.

"'I want you so badly it hurts', remember?" I kissed his forehead.

"How could I forget?" he closed his eyes and allowed himself to smile. "I just can't stop thinking about how… if James were still alive…maybe I would be your father-in-law."

"Don't think like that," I said, tapping his nose. "No matter what, I'm sure I would still have been thirsting after you like a twelve year-old schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher."

David opened his eyes and sighed.

"No matter what," I continued, "I'm still here. You can think about all the alternate universes where this, that, and the other thing happened or didn't happen all you want. But what you have—what you _really_ have—is me, right here, right now. And I'm not going anywhere."

He stared into my eyes for a long moment, as if expecting me to change my mind and run away, into the arms of a younger man.

"What did I ever do to deserve you, Hunter Lynn McCarthy?" he whispered, craning his neck to kiss me.

"You existed," I told him. I put my other hand on his face and kissed him again. Then I untangled myself from him and stood up, grabbing both of our abandoned mugs. "More hot apple cider?"

David smiled at me. "More hot apple cider."

"I'm going to turn you into a New Englander if it's the last thing I do," I grinned, heading into the kitchen.

* * *

 **What better to do when you have the day off than write a little fluff?**

 **-KTW**


	22. Cold Comfort

**"'Current influences should** turn this day into one with plenty of potential. But avoid the trap of trying too hard. Know your strengths, rely on them. Confidence, real or pretend, is your magic ingredient'," Garcia read to Kevin, who was standing over her shoulder at a table in the bullpen.

I grinned at Emily as she rolled her eyes while pouring her coffee. I had just poured my own and was adding my fair share of cream and sugar into my mug. Morgan was walking away from the coffee bar.

"Confidence—yes! I like that," Kevin said as Morgan sat on the edge of the table.

"Come on, guys, you don't think there's actually anything to that stuff, do you?" Morgan asked.

"Uh, y-you'd be surprised," Kevin pointed at Morgan.

"I think horoscopes are fun," I ambled over, leaning against the wall by the table. "I don't believe a word of them. But they're fun."

"It's gibberish," Emily turned around.

"Thank you," Morgan gestured to her.

"Oh, you are just jealous because you don't have the magic ingredient," Garcia fired back.

"I have the magic ingredient," Emily said, wagging her spoon. "It's called Splenda."

Garcia and I giggled.

"All right, skeptic, what's your sign?" Kevin asked.

"Uh-oh," Morgan said.

"No," Emily retorted, raising her mug to her lips.

"'No', is that in April?" Garcia joked. "Reid, we need a DOB on Prentiss," she added as the younger agent came over, a store-bought coffee in his hands.

"Uh, seven-twelve AM, October 12, 197—"

"Hey!" Emily pointed her spoon at him.

"Mm, Libra—I should have known," Garcia perused her newspaper. "'A romantic opportunity may experience a slight hitch thanks to the pesky lunar influence, which could have you dipping into a rather chilly mood. If being demonstrative and warm is difficult, then neutralize this temporary cold front with a simple but affectionate gesture'."

"I have a simple gesture," Emily grumbled, putting her spoon in her mug to flip Garcia off.

"Hey," JJ said, coming over with a file in her arms. Maternity leave was finally over and Todd was back in Counter-Terrorism. "You guys ready to gather?"

"Well, look at you, Miss Thing. First day back and you're all business," Morgan saluted.

"Well, it's either dive right in or confront my separation anxiety," she gave us a sheepish grin.

"It's tough being away from him, huh?" Garcia asked.

"Yeah," JJ groaned.

Then Garcia grabbed her right hand to get a better look at the ring on her finger. There was a yellow-ish orange gem on it.

"Hey, that's new," I smirked at the blonde.

"Yeah, citrine. It's Henry's birthstone. Uh, Will and I both got one," JJ displayed her hand.

"Aw, that's sweet," Garcia cooed.

"You done with this?" JJ pointed to the newspaper on the table.

"All yours," Garcia said, handing the paper to JJ. However, she was giving Emily a shit-eating grin, as if she were satisfied that JJ was on her side of the great horoscope debate.

"Thank you," JJ said, walking away.

* * *

"There's been a string of abductions in Olympia, Washington, going back nine months. Four women in all. Blonde, blue eyed, early twenties," JJ said, showing us the pictures of the four women on the screen. She went to sit in the seat between Morgan and me. "Uh, this morning, they found one."

"When were they taken?" Hotch asked.

"Nine months ago," JJ clicked her remote, showing us the body.

"So, she was the first?" Emily asked.

"Yeah," JJ nodded.

"Looks almost mummified," David said.

"Uh, not exactly," JJ said.

"Frozen?" Morgan suggested.

"Embalmed," she told him.

"That's different," I grimaced.

"Yeah, so, the time of death is a bit of a question mark right now."

"Where did they find her?" David asked.

"In a state park, just east of Olympia. Seasonal hiking area. The body was jarred loose during a mudslide. That, plus the abnormal decomp makes it difficult to know how long she was there."

"It says the victims were abducted about three months apart," Reid looked up from the file on the table in front of him. "He's rotating his victims out."

"There are gonna be more bodies out there," Hotch said.

"So, if I wanted, for God knows what reason, to embalm a body, what's the process?" I asked, walking over to the seats by the table where Morgan and Reid sat.

"Start with some nose plugs," Morgan joked.

"The blood is drained through the jugular vein and replaced with embalming fluid through one of the two major arteries. It usually takes a few hours," Reid looked up at me as I took a sip from my water bottle.

"Then you'd need special equipment, training," David said from the couch.

I slid into the seat next to Emily, across the table from Reid and Morgan. I drew my knees up to my chest, wishing I had the balls to sit with David on the couch. We were a little over four months into the relationship with no issues, other than Morgan and Emily teasing me every once in a while. I was always afraid to push it, though. We spent Christmas apart, as I had gone to Massachusetts to see my family. I had wanted to bring him home with me, but David said it was for the best that he didn't go, so as to keep up the charade. Instead, he and I exchanged gifts after catching the Road Warrior. We didn't go too crazy—he bought me a cocktail dress and I bought us tickets to watch the Cubs train.

"Uh, knowledge of the human vascular system would also be a plus," Reid nodded.

"A doctor, maybe," JJ suggested.

"A nurse, technician, somebody with a background in mortuary sciences," Hotch added.

"Now, there's a major they didn't offer at my school," Morgan bounced his eyebrows.

"Personally, the whole thing just seems weird to me," Emily said. "Embalming, I mean."

"Some people like to look good for their funeral," Morgan responded.

"But it's not them. It's just a shell, polished and painted," she grimaced. "I just wanna be cremated."

"The question is why somebody would embalm the body of someone they just murdered," Hotch said, trying to get them back on track.

"He wants to hold onto them," David said. "It's a possession issue."

"This way they can never leave," I nodded, refolding down the collar of my quarter-zip sweatshirt. David caught my eye and bobbed his head.

"Maybe fear of abandonment speaks to his history," Morgan said.

"But eventually even an embalmed body will decay and he finds himself in need of new victims," Reid pointed out.

"That explains the abduction cycle—a new victim every three months," Hotch said.

"Which means at least two of the remaining three women are already dead," David remarked with a grave tone.

"And the third?" JJ asked.

"Brooke Lombardini," Hotch looked through the file in his hands and pulled out a picture of the girl, adding it to the stack of photos on the table in front of me. "It's been four days since she, uh, disappeared following her shift at a local restaurant. We know the odds."

"Ninety percent of all abduction victims are killed within the first thirty-six hours," I sighed, picking up the picture of Brooke and looking at it.

* * *

While Reid and Morgan were at the dumpsite, discovering another body, Hotch, Emily, and I went to the restaurant where Brooke worked. We were accompanied by Detective Fulwood in the swanky area.

"Brooke worked the closing shift the night she disappeared," Fulwood told us. "She would have walked this way to her car."

"Upscale restaurant?" Hotch asked.

"Well, let's just say that I don't go, unless it's on someone else's dime," Fulwood said sheepishly, making Emily chuckle.

I turned to Hotch. "What are you thinking?"

"These women were taken as they left work," he said. "High-end spa, nice restaurant, jewelry store…"

"If he patronizes these businesses, then he's got money," Emily commented.

"Definitely narrows the profile a little," I said.

"The cook said he left just a few minutes after Brooke. Saw her car there, driver's side open," Fulwood said.

"He was quick, surprised her," Hotch said. "Eleven PM, it was dark, he had cover."

"She probably never saw him coming," I said, shoving my hands into the pockets of my quarter-zip.

"So, it says in here they recovered her necklace—amethyst, broken chain?" Emily asked Fulwood, holding the file open.

"Right here, right next to the car," Fulwood pointed at a pothole filled with rainwater in the ground as we approached the parking lot.

"Did you process the necklace?" Hotch asked.

"We couldn't get anything off of it," Fulwood told us. "Just some hair in the clasp. Hers."

"I'd like to take a look at it," Hotch requested.

Fulwood looked at the ground. "Yeah, well, I gave it back to her mother."

"All due respect, isn't it a little early to return evidence to the family?" I cocked a brow.

"There were special circumstances," he said, looking like he was a little embarrassed by his decision. "She hired someone. Guy by the name of, uh, Stanley Usher. He helped find a kid in Portland a couple years ago."

"Private investigator?" Emily asked.

"A psychic."

Emily gave Hotch and me a look. "Uh…what does that have to do with the necklace?"

"Apparently he can read personal things…their aura. I-I don't know."

Hotch bounced his dark eyebrows. "So what did he tell her?"

* * *

According to this Stanley Usher fellow, Brooke was still alive. He also saw a few things: a fenced-in area, the color orange, and the numbers eight-six-seven. While David and JJ were speaking with Stanley and Brooke's mother, Sandra, the third body had been found. Morgan and Reid went to see the medical examiner, who told them that they had all died of exsanguination, meaning they were embalmed alive. They'd been given haircuts and they were all found with double-pierced ears.

Oh, and the unsub was also a necrophiliac.

"I spoke to the families, none of the victims had double-pierced ears at the time of their abductions," JJ said.

"Cutting hair and piercing ears," Hotch said, standing beside me as we sized up the board in front of us. It had pictures of the girls and their corpses on it, each one of them in vastly different states of decay.

"He's changing them," David said from behind us. I turned to see him and Morgan taking a seat on the table near the wall.

"Into what, though?" Morgan asked.

"Into _who_?" I sucked on my bottom lip.

"The burial suggests an affection for his victims," Morgan said, staring at the board.

"So he might be remaking them into the image of a loved one," I said, putting my hands in the back pockets of my jeans.

"The ME found high levels of barbiturate?" JJ furrowed her brow, looking into the file.

"Yeah, why?" Morgan asked.

"It just, uh, something the psychic said," she mumbled. "That Brooke felt tired…heavy."

"Why are we talking about the psychic?" David retorted. "It's a _scam_. These guys talk without saying anything and you're falling for it."

"Well, he said that Brooke's alive, so I guess I just want to believe him," JJ shrugged.

"JJ, you know the profile," Hotch said gently.

"A necrophiliac has _no_ use for a live victim," David shook his head.

"You ready to talk to them?" Hotch said, nodding at the detectives nearby.

It was time to deliver the profile. I followed Morgan, but looked behind me and saw David on his phone. I had no doubt in my mind that he was asking Garcia to do a background check on the psychic.

* * *

"By now we know the DNA found on the victims did not match anyone in the system," Hotch said, "so we're gonna have to look beyond physical evidence to identify the killer."

"Our unsub is a white male in his mid-to-late-twenties, and he has money," Emily told the detectives. "He lives alone, in a large residence. There's enough space and ventilation to accommodate an embalming suite."

"He's awkward with people, especially women," I added. "An inability to relate socially is common in homicidal necrophiles."

"Because of the alterations to the bodies, we believe the unsub is attempting to recreate a woman he once loved," Morgan glanced back at the board behind us.

"Like a girlfriend?" a bald detective asked.

"Or a wife, a mother. Someone who left or died suddenly," Hotch said.

"Uh, th-th-this projection of the loved one coupled with his need to preserve the victims through embalming is similar to the psychopathology of serial murderer Ed Gein," Reid said, looking a little too enthusiastic to talk about one of our country's most infamous serial killers. "Gein had an Oedipal complex which developed in the years he nursed his paralyzed mother back from a stroke. After she died, his obsession compelled him to dig up corpses of women who resembled his mother. So persistent was his desire to resurrect his dead mother that he actually dressed in female suits fashioned from human skin. Eventually, uh, Gein grew unhappy with the flesh of dead bodies, which had a tendency to dry and crack, so he shifted his focus to live victims, whose bodies he could better preserve."

"The evolution from dead to live victims will also be mirrored in our unsub's maturation," Hotch said.

"We've put together a list of incident reports prior to 2006," Emily reached back to grab a said list. "You're gonna want to follow-up on these," she said as she handed the stack to Fulwood. "Uh, they are inappropriate postmortem conduct, cadaver theft, and graveyard disturbances."

"Sixty percent of necrophiles work in the death business, so be sure to canvass local cemeteries, mortuaries, and morgues," Reid said.

"And since we have the killer's DNA, we're gonna be sending you out with kits to swab potential suspects," Morgan held up two of the swabs.

"The odds of finding Brooke Lombardini alive are slim," I admitted. "But the quicker we identify the killer, the better her chances are."

"For her sake," Hotch stood up from the table he had been sitting on, "let's work fast."

* * *

I had the special privilege of canvassing at a local coroner's office. The man was chubby and balding. And he looked very uncomfortable when I asked him if any inappropriate shenanigans had occurred.

"I won't lie," he said, washing his hands. "I-I-It happens in the industry. And we put a stop to it when it does."

"You don't report it to the police?" I asked.

"Well, we…like to keep that kind of, uh, thing quiet," he said sheepishly.

"A killer is dressing up his victims and violating them," I told him. "Maybe quiet isn't the best way to go."

"He dresses them up?" the coroner furrowed his brow.

"Does that mean something to you?"

"…We hired an apprentice a while back," he said. "Odd guy. Even for this business. I didn't like the attention he paid the female cadavers. I come to find out he liked to do their make-up. Put a wig on them and such."

"Can you describe the wig for me?" I asked.

"I can do you one better," he said, leaving the room for a moment. When he came back, he had a box in his hands. He put it on the table and opened it up for me. "We cleaned out his locker after his termination. There she is."

"Do you have a pen?" I asked, checking my pockets for one. The coroner handed me the writing implement, which I used to lift the platinum blonde wig without touching it.

"He never came back for it—imagine that," the coroner said.

"Imagine that," I echoed under my breath, reaching into my back pocket with my free hand to grab my phone. "I need this man's name." I took a picture of the wig before putting it back down inside the box.

* * *

I had sent the picture along with Ivan Bakunas' name to Hotch. He, Prentiss, and Fulwood traveled in the rain to visit the former apprentice's home, where he lived with his mother. He was less than helpful, apparently, refusing to give them a swab. And after getting a background check from Garcia, they found out that he had a checkered past that involved him date-raping his girlfriend and getting kicked out of school. But as perfect as Bakunas might have seemed, he wasn't well-off in the money department.

A 911 operator also reported that they had gotten a call from Brooke Lombardini. She had sounded breathy and tired, offering barely any details other than saying that the man was going to kill her before the call was interrupted by the unsub, who hung up. Sandra Lombardini was positive that the call was from her daughter, even though the woman was whispering.

"…they traced it to the nearest tower and that narrows it down to a twenty-mile radius here, just southeast of Seattle," Emily's voice said from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder from where I stood at the whiteboard with Derek and Reid. Emily and Hotch were coming near us with a sheet of paper.

"That's a densely-populated area. Were they able to triangulate?" Hotch asked.

"Uh, Garcia tried to ping the phone, but it was already dead," Emily said. "The unsub probably turned it off when he found her with it."

Reid, Morgan, and I turned around to receive our two other teammates. I noticed David coming closer as well.

"You mean _if_ he found her," David said. I had heard that when they listened to the tape David was a little gruff with the mother.

"Dave, I agree with you about psychics, but the fact is, Sandra Lombardini positively identified her daughter's voice. We have to assume that that call was genuine," Hotch said, and David nodded. "So, what do we think? Why is the unsub keeping Brooke alive? And how long do we think she has until he kills her?"

"Maybe he needs them alive to affect their transformation," Reid supposed.

"The hair, the ears, and the make-up would only take a few hours, though," I pointed out. "He's had her for almost five days."

"Okay, so, maybe it's about something more than just appearance. Maybe it's something deeper," Emily shook her head.

"On the phone she made it sound like she was being locked up, and she sounded drugged," Reid said before clearing his throat. "These are control mechanisms used in cases of sexual slavery, mind control…"

"It's brainwashing," Morgan added.

"So, he's trying to break her down, make her surrender her identity," Hotch said.

"That's what he's waiting for," David nodded. "That's the version of them he wants to hold on to."

"So the longer she holds out, the longer she stays alive," Morgan cocked his head.

"And by giving in, she's signing her own death warrant," I folded my arms across my chest.

* * *

"Okay, thank you," Emily hung up the phone, looking up at me and slightly shaking her head. She was seated on a desk while David and I stood in front of her. "That was the lab with the DNA results on those swabs."

"No matches?" I frowned.

"No, our guy's still out there," she said.

Behind her, a door opened and Detective Fulwood stepped out of it. A black man was behind him, and judging by David's reaction, I figured it was Stanley Usher.

"What's he doing here?" he grumbled. Then he stepped out around me to go confront the situation.

"Dav-Rossi!" I hissed, catching myself. But he was gone before I could stop him.

"Detective, a word," he called out.

Fulwood stopped in his tracks and stepped over to David, leaving Stanley Usher by the door.

"Is shit about to go down?" Emily stood up and murmured in my ear.

"I dunno," I chewed on my lip. I took a step forward and tried to angle my body so I could eavesdrop a little better.

"Do you know what you're doing?" David cocked his head over at Usher. I could barely make out his voice.

Fulwood glanced back at the con-artist/alleged psychic. "Can't afford to let my ego get in the way on this one," he said sheepishly. "Take all the help I can get."

"Look, I'm happy to be wrong about Brooke—hell, I'm praying I am—but I'm not wrong about this guy," David said.

Just then, JJ walked over to Usher and shook his hand. I noticed that he held onto her hand for longer than normal and I wondered if he was 'performing a reading' on her. But then he let go and Fulwood returned to him to lead him away. But he stopped and caught JJ's attention, saying something with a smile and rubbing his ring finger, before following the detective. JJ stood there for a moment, holding her hand with her other, looking down at the ring.

* * *

Ivan Bakunas had been taken in after Usher did a reading on the wig the coroner gave me. They had caught him trying to cross the border into Canada. Emily and Fulwood were questioning him and had found out that he liked to, and I quote, " _crack open a cold one_ ". When confronted about the wig, he admitted that the wig completed the look, but he was more about shoes. He had been in love with Sunny Raines, a local weathergirl who had died in a car accident and he stole her shoes. He called them a genuine article, which had inspired Reid to come hurdling over to the board, where Morgan and I were sitting.

He frantically reached into his satchel and pulled out his notepad, flicking through the pages. Hotch followed him over.

"Reid," he said as he neared us.

"I took a report of a grave robbery," the doctor said.

"I thought you said it was just a simple theft," Morgan furrowed his brow,

"Yeah, but l-listen to what was taken. A dress, a pair of diamond earrings, and a pair of pearl earrings," Reid said.

"Two pair of earrings," I said, standing up and crossing my arms so my elbows were tucked together and my hands were on their opposite shoulders.

"If our unsub is like Bakunas, then he needs the genuine articles from the true object of his affection to complete the fantasy," Hotch explained.

"Exactly," Reid was still looking in his notebook. "This grave could belong to that woman. Um…let's see. Abigail Hansen."

We immediately called Garcia and put her on speaker as she searched for our girl.

" _Okay, so I got her obit from_ The Olympian," Garcia said in a sad voice. " _Abigail Reina Hansen died suddenly at twenty-six from myocarditis, a heart defect. Sending her passport photo now_."

The laptop by Morgan chirped and he looked at the screen with a sigh.

"Well, she certainly looks the part," he said, turning it around to show us the beautiful young woman with chin-length blonde hair and double-pierced ears.

"Garcia, what else can you tell us about her?" Hotch asked.

" _I can tell you that she was born in Amsterdam, she never married, and her employment records show her working for Patrick and Leona Gless from 1985 until her death in 1992_."

"Can you get us an address for the Gless family?" Hotch requested. "They might be the only ones who can tell us who Abigail was."

" _Yeah_."

* * *

David and Hotch had gone to meet Patrick and Leona Gless, where they found out that Abigail was an au pair for their son, Roderick. While they were on a cruise, Abigail had died in Roderick's room. When they returned three days later, they found their young son curled up with her body, having wrapped her arms around him so he could sleep. Later on in life, Roderick had attempted med school, but eventually dropped out, liquidating his trust fund and cutting ties to his parents. Morgan had wondered how Roderick was supplementing his income, as his trust fund was probably not up to snuff. He had written a letter and only addressed it to his mother, and this was the last bit of contact he'd had with them. JJ had taken the letter and brought it to Usher's house so he could perform a reading on it.

"Water?" Hotch questioned.

"That's what he said," JJ shook her head. "Roderick is near water."

"That really narrowed it down," I muttered under my breath.

"That's not very specific," Reid piped up from where he was seated on the desk. "The Earth is two-thirds water."

"He specified a rocky shoreline you could see," JJ said in an almost desperate voice.

"JJ, this man is not exactly a reliable source of information," Hotch said as she walked over to a desk.

"Okay, this photo from the Gless house," she said, grabbing the snapshot of Abigail and Roderick in question, "it was taken at their house on Mercer Island."

"Waterfront property," Fulwood added.

"No one's lived there for ten years," JJ continued. "It's abandoned. I checked. This could be where he's holding Brooke."

"He's sending him money," David said, coming over with a piece of paper in his hands.

"What's that?" Hotch asked, taking it from him.

"Roderick's dad," David said. "It's the reason Roderick never said goodbye to him in the letter. They never lost contact." He looked at Morgan. "That supplemental income you were asking about—this is it. Every six months, a fifty-thousand dollar wire."

JJ took it from Hotch. "Yeah, this is Western Union, though. There's no way to tell who's on the receiving end."

"I'm telling you, he's sending it to Roderick," David pleaded. "If you'd seen his father, you'd know."

"It's true. Deep down, he was very guilty about neglecting him," Hotch said.

"He's submissive in the marriage. He's probably doing it behind her back," David glanced around.

"You don't think his dad knew?" I grimaced.

"No," David looked at me reassuringly. "I think he's a sad man trying to buy his kid's love."

"Good," I sighed.

"This is where Brooke's 911 call originated," Fulwood stood up and pointed to the red circle on the map. "This Western Union," he gestured to the paper in his hand, "is within the circle. Mercer Island…isn't."

* * *

After getting the location from Patrick Gless, Hotch, Rossi, Fullwood, and some other policemen infiltrated the building where Roderick Gless was preparing to embalm Brooke Lombardini. They had caught him just as he touched his scalpel to her neck, making him knock over a jar of the orange embalming fluid.

"Well, at least he got one thing right," I said, putting a mug of decaf in front of David on the coffee table. He was sitting on my couch and absentmindedly tapping his thumbs on the arm of it.

"Hmm?" he furrowed his brows at me.

"Usher," I sat next him and curled up so my back was against his side. I grabbed one of David's arms and pulled it around me. "He mentioned the color orange, didn't he?"

"Right," David kissed the crown of my head.

"But he didn't get anything else?" I turned my head to look at him.

David was silent. "The, uh, rocky shoreline."

"How?"

"There was an ad for a brewery painted on a neighboring wall," David sighed. "A lighthouse. On a rocky shoreline."

"Wow," I muttered. "Kinda makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Don't waste your time with those thoughts," David snaked his arm around my waist pulled me closer. "I was on a kidnapping case in Georgia. We had nothing, time was running out, and there was a local woman known for her… _abilities_. On her advice, we took the investigation in the wrong direction. The boy died."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, stroking his hand that was resting on my stomach.

"It was a long time ago," he shrugged.

"You should tell JJ that story," I said, closing my eyes. "I think she needs to hear it."

David kissed my head again. "I will."


	23. Zoe's Reprise

**Author's Note: First things first—sorry for the hiatus! I just needed to get my mojo back, so we'll see how far this will go. (And also sorry for not leaving you with a super-great chapter…) Anywho, it's really good to be back! With vigor!**

* * *

 ** _"Well, look at_** _that, Mick. It's a bit late for Valentine's, but someone sent you flowers," Derek Morgan said, strolling over to the brunette's desk._

 _"They're anonymous, so don't even bother trying to make fun of me," she said as he grabbed the tag from the bouquet of red and white roses. True to her words, there was only a heart scrawled on the thick paper in navy blue ink._

 _"You got a secret admirer?" Morgan smirked down at her._

 _"Pft," she rolled her eyes. "I bet my mom sent them to me."_

 _"I hope your mom's not the one making you blush like this," Morgan reached down and put the back of his hand on her pink cheek. "Damn, you could fry an egg on your face."_

 _"Stop," she chuckled, swatting his hand away. "I'm Irish as hell—my face is always like this."_

 _"Out with it, Mick," Morgan sat on the edge of her desk as she grabbed for her Koosh ball._

 _"Out with what?" she cocked an eyebrow and smirked at him._

 _"Who's making you blush like this?"_

 _"Hmm, I haven't checked our family tree in a while, but I think I can trace it back a few centuries to a man named Connor McCarthy from Limerick…"_

 _Morgan's phone chirped in his pocket and he pulled it out. Garcia had texted him 'BABY PICS IN MY OFFICE STAT'. He looked down at the brunette and grinned. "C'mon, Penelope's got something for us."_

 _"A case?" Mick asked, putting the ball back on her desktop._

 _"No, but just as important," Morgan winked showing her the text._

 _"All right, I'll meet you up there," she said, standing up._

 _Morgan got off her desk and started heading up the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder and saw McCarthy smile down at the bouquet and smell the roses. She was hiding something and he knew it._

* * *

Though I smiled at JJ's cute pictures of little Henry LaMontagne, I couldn't keep my mind off the flowers David had sent to my desk. He was spending his annual leave doing a book tour for the ten-year anniversary of his bestseller, _Deviance: The Secret Desires of Sadistic Serial Killers_. If I remembered correctly, he would have just left Cleveland, Ohio by now.

"This is Henry wearing the booties my mom knitted him," JJ said, flipping the page in her phot album.

"I can't get over his cuteness," I crooned, putting my hand over my heart. As distracting as the thought of David's gesture was, I wasn't immune to cute babies.

JJ chuckled. "Oh, and this is him wearing the customized leather jacket Auntie Penelope got him."

"When he grows up, he's gonna be a rebel," Garcia said as Morgan laughed in my ear. Her phone began ringing and she put it on speaker. "Is this David Rossi, the famous bestselling author David Rossi?"

My ears perked up and I looked up from the photo album. Morgan stepped over to Garcia's elbow.

"What are you doing? You're not supposed to be calling when you're on annual leave," he reminded David.

" _I think my AL just ended_ ," David said with a sigh.

"What do you mean?" Morgan asked.

" _Garcia, Cleveland police is sending you some files. Get JJ to distribute them to the team right away._ "

"Yeah, what are we looking at?" JJ asked.

" _I don't know yet. Just see if the team can find a connection with these crimes. I'll call you back in a few hours._ "

"Yes, sir," she responded.

* * *

There had been a series of seemingly unrelated murders in Cleveland. A young girl named Zoe Hawkes had brought this to David's attention, thinking there was a serial killer in her city. She was found strangled with blunt-force head trauma the next morning at the house of one of the recent victims, David's card with her.

"The crimes are within a seven-mile radius," JJ told us in the round table room.

"Well, that's something," Morgan leaned forward.

"Yeah, but the neighborhoods are all completely different," Emily pointed out. "They range from poor to rich, industrial to residential."

"The physical locations are dissimilar, but the operating zone's well-defined," said Hotch.

"Okay, I'm in," Garcia said. She was on a laptop in the room with us, logging into Zoe's laptop in Cleveland, which David was sitting at.

" _I see you_ ," David's voice said over the telephone speaker in the middle of the room.

"Opening your web browser for search history," Garcia murmured as I leaned over her shoulder. "Checking her home page."

"All right, so the first thing she looks at when she opens her computer is a crime column," I said, watching as Garcia scrolled through Paula McConnell, Cleveland's number one source in crime news' column.

"Probably to stay current on her studies," Morgan suggested.

" _Can you see what she worked on last?_ " David asked.

" _Voila_ ," Garcia opened up a series of graphs and pictures. "These are the most recently opened documents she created."

"Looks like she was compiling empirical data about homicide trends in Cleveland," Reid looked over Garcia's other shoulder.

"Do you think she knew the killer?" Emily asked into the speaker.

" _I don't see any notes indicating suspects_ ," David replied.

"Well, Dave, she's a criminology student. She's been taught to analyze statistics and apply theory, not investigate killers. Let's talk about what we know," Hotch said.

"All right," JJ looked at the legal pad in her hand. "Victim one, Travis Bartlett, was last seen at a gay bar. He was shot at night in a park. Victim two, Lily Nicks, a thirty-four year-old prostitute, her throat was slashed. Victims three and four, June Appleby and Troy Wertsler, were shot in their car at a parking lot outside of a movie theater. And victim five was a twenty-eight year-old single woman, Kayla James, killed in her home."

JJ had shown us pictures of each of the victims. The couples' bodies in the car had seemed a bit familiar to me, but when Kayla showed up, my right brow shot up into the air.

"She was bound, suffocated with a bag over her head, evidence of rape," JJ added, glancing at me. "And then the sixth victim was Zoe."

"Victimology, weapons used, and cause of death are all different," I folded my arms across my blouse. "It's hard to imagine it's even the same unsub. I mean, God, Kayla looked like she was murdered by Dennis Rader."

Morgan caught my eye and furrowed his brow, then he delved back into his file, as if I had just given him an idea.

" _It can't be a coincidence that Zoe goes to Kayla James' house and gets murdered_ ," David said.

"All right, let's say it is the same killer. Does anybody see a pattern?" Hotch asked.

"Well, maybe," Emily mumbled. "Okay, the first crime, he shoots the victim. The second crime, he rapes a woman and slashes her throat—that's more personal. And the third crime, he escalates to killing two people. And the fourth, he escalates even _more_ by raping a woman, binding her, and suffocating her."

"So, if it is the same unsub, there's a progression of violence with every kill," Hotch said.

"It could be an anger-excitation offender, getting more daring with each crime," Reid put forth.

"I think I got something here," Morgan said, taking out a picture of victim number two. "Look at this—the slashes in the prostitute's throat," he gestured to them with his pen. "They're all shallow, unsure cuts. The Kayla James crime scene…" he picked up another photo. "Telephone cord, rope, and duct tape were used. It's like he couldn't decide how to bind her."

"So without a gun, he's sloppy, inexperienced," Hotch nodded.

"When Mick made that BTK comment just now, it got me thinking… The young couple shot in the car," Morgan lifted up the picture and locked eyes on me. "That crime scene remind you of anything?"

"Yeah, they were shot with a .44 Bulldog, just like the Son of Sam used on his victims, which were also young couples in parked cars," Reid said before I could open my mouth. "It might be nothing, but you're right, there is a parallel there."

"With the second victim, it's hard not to think of Jack the Ripper," Emily said. "The obvious similarity being it's a prostitute whose throat was slashed."

"Kayla James was bound, tortured, raped, with a plastic bag over her head," I held up the photo. "I hate to sound like a broken record, but…Dennis Rader. He wasn't called BTK for nothing."

"What about victim number one?" Morgan wondered.

" _Garcia, what neighborhood was he found in?_ " David asked.

"At a park in the Kingsbury Run area," she told him.

" _Zoe reminded me last night that Cleveland's most famous serial killer was the Butcher of Kingsbury Run. He found his victims in gay bars, shot them, and dumped their body there. Travis Bartlett was last seen at a gay bar and his body was found in Kingsbury Park._ "

I sighed and leaned back in my seat. This was crazy.

"So these are copycats of famous serial killers?" JJ asked skeptically.

" _He's a serial killer studying serial killers_."

We all exchanged glances, but Hotch was the first to speak.

"See you in Cleveland, Dave."

* * *

"Guys," David came out to greet us in the Cleveland police station where we just entered. He was dressed casually, in a dark sweater and a pair of jeans. It was good to see him, even under these awful circumstances.

"Hey, Dave," Hotch said to him.

"We're in that room," David gestured. "Coffee's brewing."

"We'll get started on the evidence boards," Reid told him, carrying a box from Quantico.

"Detective Brady's our point," David continued as we gathered around him. "I'll let you all introduce yourselves."

We all started to head for the room we were to work in, but I heard David call out to JJ, asking her for help. I turned around and saw him standing there with her. He gave me a curt nod, as if telling me to go on and not worry about it.

* * *

"I know it may seem far-fetched, but copycat killers are not entirely uncommon," Hotch explained to the balding Detective Brady.

"This one just happens to be copying several different killers," I added.

"But if he's trying to be the Butcher of Kingsbury Run, why didn't he cut up and mutilate the victims like the real guy?" Brady asked.

"That was seven weeks ago," Emily said, grabbing a picture to put on our evidence board. "He was just getting started. Beginning killers are often frightened of the crime itself. They are more interested in getting it over with as quickly as possible and fleeing the scene."

"He was just using the Butcher's ruse as a way to lure the victim to be alone with him," Morgan said.

"By the time he killed Kayla James, three days ago, he'd progressed. He came very close to copying all of the BTK's MO."

"He's reading, learning, borrowing from others because he doesn't know who he is yet," Reid explained.

"And because of this, we think he's young and impressionable," I shrugged. "Maybe even a student. Someone probably enrolled in criminology classes."

"O-Our technical analyst is going through names of local students right now," Reid nodded.

"Up to this point, changing his MO has prevented investigators from linking the crimes," Hotch turned to Brady. "That's why we need to work quickly."

"You're sure about this?" Brady asked.

"It's not a coincidence that all of these random, violent murders in a localized area are copycats of serial killers," I shook my head.

"It's as if all the worst serial killers have converged on Cleveland. Every time he plans to kill, the murder weapon, the MO, and the victimology will all change," Hotch said.

Brady took a deep breath and left the room.

"I'm going to tell Brady we're ready for the profile," Hotch muttered before leaving the room where we were assembling files for the team to follow along with.

I happened to glance up when David left the room and watched as he walked over to Hotch. There was something going on with him and I wondered if it had to do with him being the last to talk to Zoe alive. I hoped he would talk to me about it when we could find some alone time and then I went back to the files.

A moment later, I felt a pair of eyes on me and I looked back up to see David re-entering the room. He gave me a tight-lipped smile, which I returned, and then went to the board. He took down the one photo we had of Zoe alive and stared at it pensively before leaving again, his eyes never lifting from the picture.

"You guys, uh, handle the profile?" Hotch quickly came in and dropped off his own file before turning to leave as well.

"Yeah. Everything okay?" Morgan asked.

"Everything's fine," Hotch said over his shoulder and stepped out of the door.

Morgan looked at me, as if I knew anything more than he did. I shrugged and piled up the file folders.

* * *

"We have six homicides in a seven-mile radius in East Cleveland. Now, this small zone indicates that he's a geographically stable offender," Morgan addressed the police.

"This type of offender is characterized as young, socially immature, of average intelligence, with psychopathic personality traits," Emily added.

"They also tend to live alone and have an antisocial nature," I said.

"A serial killer's first murder is very telling. This unsub's first murder, he chose the MO of Cleveland's own Butcher of Kingsbury Run," Reid explained.

"The Butcher isn't as well-known as other famous serial killers, but he is a local legend," I said.

"And because he picked the Butcher to be first, we believe he's a native of Cleveland, and probably grew up hearing stories of the Butcher," Morgan pointed out.

"This is someone who is obsessed with serial killers," Emily stressed. "His computer will be filled with research on them."

"He'll have abundant images of murderers on his computer and possibly even snuff films. He uses these like pornography," Reid said. "They provide some sort of sexual release."

* * *

When we at the station were about to call it a night, I had hoped to find David and see if I could help him with whatever had been bothering him. I found out he had gone with JJ to meet with Paula McConnell, the crime journalist Zoe had been reading every day, and ask her to write about the unsub to draw him out.

Not knowing if David would come back to the station, I got ready to leave. Then the phones started ringing. There was a new victim.

"They're bringing him up right now," Brady said when we got to the edge of the ravine where the body was discovered. I watched as the young jogger was dragged up the edge of the ravine. "Teenagers found him a little over an hour ago."

Reid pulled out a flashlight and shined it on the corpse's face, illuminating his red eyes.

"It's petechiae in the whites of his eyes," he reported, then shined the light on the victim's neck. "Judging from the bruising, he was probably strangled with a wire."

"Is this our guy?" Brady asked.

"It's gotta be—a jogger doesn't get garroted every day," Morgan pointed out, squatting down to get a closer look at the man.

"Whatever signature he may have left has probably washed away in the water," I said, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket.

"Well, who's he mimicking now?" Brady looked at Reid.

"Bike Path Rapist Altemio Sanchez comes to mind," the latter said. "He trolled bike paths near Buffalo, garroting his victims."

"Looks like he copied everything except for the rape," I bounced my eyebrows.

"Strangulation's a repetition of his last murder of Zoe," Morgan looked up at me. "First time he's repeated himself."

"Zoe's murder was spontaneous, though," Reid said. "He didn't plan it. He acted on instinct and did what came naturally to him."

"Maybe what came naturally felt good to him and he wanted to feel it again," I suggested.

"If he's starting to repeat a pattern, he may have found himself."

* * *

I entered my hotel room and rifled through my go-bag, trying to find a pair of pajamas before I took a shower. I hadn't yet heard from David, but I knew that was just as well. Solving this case was top-priority. I only wished to see if he was okay.

Checking my phone one last time to see if he had tried to call me, I sighed and hopped into the shower. I kept an ear out for any sounds from my phone and decided that if he hadn't made contact with me by the time I got out, I would call him myself.

Fortunately, when I exited the shower, my phone buzzed with a text message. " _Room #?_ " David had asked. I quickly threw on the white long-sleeved shirt David had been wearing the night we became a couple and stepped into my plaid pajama shorts. I twisted my hair into a towel turban and responded to his text, leaving the bathroom with my clothes from yesterday.

I had just packed away my dirty clothes when David knocked on the door. I bolted to the door and opened it quickly, letting him in and checking the hallway to see if anyone had happened to see him.

David immediately sat on my bed and put his hands on his face. I frowned, not wanting to see him like this, and bent over to untwist my towel and wring out my hair a little, tossing the damp towel into my bathroom.

"Everything okay?" I asked, stepping closer to him. I reached down and stroked a lock of his dark hair.

David looked up and grabbed my hand with both of his. He sighed and held my hand against his warm chest.

"You know you can talk to me," I said quietly.

"I know," he whispered, removing his hands from mine to pull me closer, between his knees. He rubbed circles into my hips with his thumbs. "I…I can't help but feel responsible for what happened to Zoe."

"Why?" I asked, stroking his hair with both hands now.

"I was tired. I've been reading the same pages from my book every day and night since I started my AL. I hadn't seen my beautiful lady in days. I wanted to go back to my hotel room and go to sleep before I was back on the road. And this girl, this _tenacious_ young girl, kept trying to ask me about these crimes, but I was dismissive. I gave her my card and a little advice, which she had the misfortune of taking…" David sighed and closed his eyes. "I told her not to stop until she found the answers she was looking for. I didn't think she'd go to a crime scene."

"You can't take the blame for that," I sat down on one of his knees and held his face so when he opened his eyes, he'd be looking right at me.

"Hotch told me not to personalize it," David murmured, wrapping his arms around me. "But how can I not?"

"You told us yourself, the mother told her to stop going to crime scenes. Who's to say she wouldn't have done it anyway?"

David pressed his forehead against mine and closed his eyes again. "I'm paying for her funeral," he said after a moment. "Anonymously. That's what I needed JJ's help for."

"Do you think that'll make you feel less guilty?" I asked, knowing there was no way to convince him he had done nothing wrong.

"I hope so," he gave me a bitter smile and kissed me softly on the lips. "I should go."

David patted my leg and I stood up. I walked him to my door and kissed him on the cheek.

"We'll get the guy," I assured him. "And then you can really make it up to Zoe."

* * *

Another body had been found. A middle-aged homeless woman had been found strangled in a desolate street, apparently with a clean spot on her otherwise dirty forehead.

"Three murders in the last three days—something's causing his frenzy," Morgan mused from where he, Emily, David, and I stood at the board.

"Could be a drastic change in his life," I shrugged.

"Something he lost control of," David added, glancing at me.

"Or it could be something he _gained_ control of," Emily folded her arms across her chest, "Like himself. I-I-If he's finally defined himself as a strangler, he may just be practicing, perfecting his style. He may have awakened."

"The coroner just called," said JJ, who had just entered our room. We all turned around to look at her. "Preliminary tests confirm acetyl alcohol on the homeless woman's forehead."

"He sterilized it?" David asked.

"Why would he do that?" JJ questioned.

"Maybe he did something to her forehead," Morgan suggested. "Used an alcohol wipe to remove evidence."

"Well, if that's the case, it certainly wasn't necessary to the crime. This could be part of his signature," I pointed out.

"We should look at other victims to see if he did something similar," David proposed.

"Any evidence on the last victim was washed away in the water," JJ said.

"And all the other bodies were either buried or cremated," Morgan looked over at David.

"Except for one," the latter mentioned.

* * *

David went to Zoe's mother's house and got permission for the ME to test Zoe's forehead. There was enough saliva on her skin to test for DNA, which led to a CODIS match on a young man named Eric Ryan Olson.

The twenty-three year-old had been arrested for attempted sexual assault and spent two and a half years in prison; he was paroled six months ago. Olson had been taking independent studies in forensic science and criminology while he was in prison, which is why he knew so much.

While Rossi, Hotch, Reid, and Brady investigated Olson's apartment, they found his laptop and discovered that he had planned to go to a bar that night. Rossi and Hotch had gone to the bar and just called Emily while she was patrolling in a Suburban with Morgan and myself.

"Got it, Hotch," Emily lowered her phone. "Manager says he may have followed one of the waitresses out of the bar, and she walks home through Cedar Park."

"Didn't we just pass Cedar Park?" I asked from the back.

Morgan sighed and did a sharp U-turn, blasting the siren until we reached the park. We got out of the SUV and pulled out our weapons, searching the grounds until we saw two figures on the grass. A young woman was supine and motionless. I hoped we weren't too late as the other figure, a young man with curly blonde hair and pasty white skin, pulled her legs over his thighs from where he was kneeling. It seemed like he was about unzip his jeans when we ran out of the bushes.

"FBI! Get off the girl! Get off the girl!" Morgan hollered, pushing him onto the ground so he could cuff him. "Stay down! Stay down!"

I stood by Morgan's side, pointing my gun down at the young man, hearing Emily check on the girl. It seemed the girl was struggling and telling Emily to get off of her.

"Stop, we're trying to help you!" Emily said, holding the girl from behind, just as Morgan lifted up the boy.

"It's my boyfriend!" the girl whimpered.

I lowered my gun and looked at both the girl and the man Morgan had pulled off of her. The pasty man had a devious smirk on his face, and it chilled me to the bone.

* * *

"Didn't see _that_ coming," Morgan commented, looking over my shoulder through the window of the door to the interrogation room.

Emily was sitting inside with the young woman while JJ and I watched. Morgan was standing close behind me while Detective Brady, David, and Hotch were further away.

"How could she not know?" JJ asked.

"Kenneth Bianchi's girlfriend had no idea he was one of the Hillside Stranglers," David pointed out glumly.

"Just like BTK's wife," I added, _Since I appear to be the BTK expert lately_.

"What do we know about her?" Hotch asked.

"Her name's Linda Jones," JJ told him. "No criminal record. They met online six weeks ago."

" _No, he can't be this guy_ ," Linda said in the room.

" _We found his DNA on a murder victim_ ," Emily told her.

" _What?_ "

" _We also think he's responsible for the murder of seven other people over the last seven weeks_. _Two of his victims were raped._ "

I heard a retching noise. Then Linda's muffled voice.

" _I think I'm gonna be sick_."

I looked back through the window and saw Emily jump out of her seat to grab a trashcan while Linda gagged.

"Nice save, Em," I grimaced, turning away when the girl blew chunks into the trash.

Just then, the door to the other interrogation room opened up and Olson's blonde attorney poked his head out. Hotch, David, and Brady came over to speak to him and I perked my ears up.

"Against my counsel, my client would like to talk to Agent Rossi," the attorney said, slinking back inside.

"We talked about him being curious, asking questions," Hotch reminded David. "If he thinks he knows you, he might open up."

"I'll keep him talking," David assured him.

"Good," Hotch nodded as David stepped toward the door.

I wondered if I should make my way over to watch the conversation, but I also wondered if that would be too obvious. But then JJ and Morgan stepped closer to the others and I followed suit. Hotch hit the button so we could hear the conversation.

" _Agent Rossi_ ," Olson said in his light, unbothered voice. " _Big fan_."

David pushed the door closed and stood there for a moment.

" _We have some information that would be of great interest to you_ ," the attorney told him.

David sat down and I couldn't see him anymore. " _My ears are burning_."

" _My lawyer here explains that I'm being charged with eight murders and that I'm probably looking at the death penalty_ ," Olson said. " _I have one very important question for you. Are you…_ sure _it's just eight?_ "

"What?" Brady gasped, looking at JJ for answers.

"We checked missing persons," she said. "Since he's started killing, four people have been reported missing in East Cleveland neighborhoods."

"We can't rule out any of them as his possible victims," I added.

"He marked pages on several serial killers. We don't know which ones he tried to copycat," Hotch said.

"We're screwed, then," Brady muttered. "The DA is gonna have to offer him a deal."

"The DA doesn't have to give him the option," Hotch pointed out.

"That's easy for you to say. You get to go home tomorrow. What do I tell the families of the missing? 'Sorry, no idea'?"

"Detective, we're not gonna leave until we can give you and the families some closure," JJ told him in her most soothing voice as Hotch stepped away to make a phone call.

"And how are you gonna do that?" Brady countered.

"Reid … I need something, anything that might show where he was trolling for more victims," Hotch said into his phone. The younger agent was still at Olson's apartment with other investigators.

" _Once the DA gets here, we have a lot to talk about_ ," the attorney said.

" _What do you think you're gonna get out of this?_ " David asked in an annoyed tone.

" _I don't know_ ," Olson replied. " _We'll see._ "

" _You don't have to say anything else, Eric. You got to speak to him. Now let's just wait for the DA_ ," the attorney advised.

" _I don't know how to break it to you, kid, but you don't have a card to play here. We're three steps ahead of you_ ," David said.

" _Oh. Really?_ " Olson responded facetiously.

" _We've already considered the possibility that you killed other people. We knew you were young, wanted to experiment. It was likely you would copycat as many serial killers as possible to figure out who you are and what you liked. So, let me ask you a question. How do you know you haven't told me already where the other bodies are buried?_ "

I could have sworn I heard the sound of someone cracking their neck, and I could only imagine it was Olson, with a big smirk on his face.

"…He marked up Rossi's books. Check the bookcase. Maybe he was scouting for locations to commit more murders," Hotch continued his phone call. "…What? … Okay." And then Hotch hung up.

" _Now_ ," David started, " _were you sick much as a kid?_ "

" _I got strep throat every flu season_ ," Olson said. " _Did you just profile that about me?_ "

" _Her name was Zoe Hawkes—the girl you killed three days ago. We found your DNA on her forehead._ "

" _It'll never be admissible in court_ ," the attorney chimed in. " _Her body was removed from a state facility and_ —"

" _Now, most people would ask what you did_ ," David interrupted. " _I_ know _what you_ did _. You kissed her on the forehead. What I want to know is, why?_ "

" _Why do you think someone would do that, Agent Rossi?_ "

" _Well, that's why I asked if you had been ill much, as a child. You see, you're slight, pale, sickly. Most parents, they kiss their children on the forehead to see if their temperature is warm. Now, my theory is that you, somehow in your development, warped that caring gesture into something perverse. So, did you sit next to Zoe to see if she got cold? Is that why you kissed her?_ "

" _That's a really interesting theory_ ," Olson said in a condescending voice. " _Make a great chapter in one of your books._ "

Hotch's phone rang and he quickly answered it in speaker phone. "Yeah, Reid."

" _I found pictures on his computer in a special folder he created. They're scenic places in the city. Three of them I recognize from his crime scenes. There are more pictures of places I don't recognize_ ," Reid said.

"Email them as soon as you can," Hotch ordered.

" _Alright_."

"This guy's getting off on those photos," Morgan stated as soon as Hotch hung up.

"Then what does he need Linda for?" JJ asked.

I had tuned Emily's interrogation out since David had gone in the other room, but I took a step back and tried to listen closely.

" _…Did he have any other strange preferences in bed?_ " Emily asked.

" _No_."

" _Did he ever roleplay by tying you up?_ "

" _No_ ," Linda seemed to chuckle nervously.

" _Are you sure?_ "

" _Yes_ ," she chuckled again. " _I'm sure_." There was a brief pause. " _He liked—he liked being exhibitionists. It was really the only way he could get excited._ "

" _What do you mean?_ "

" _Well, he didn't…like…having sex in bed_ ," Linda said awkwardly. " _So he just took me to public places._ "

" _Where?_ "

" _…Ugh, do I have to tell you this?_ "

" _Please_."

" _Okay…um…the first time was…at Kingsbury Park. And then…at a movie theater, in the parking lot, in my car._ "

" _Did he ever take you to the Second Street Bridge, off the bike path?_ "

"… _Yeah_."

"That's where the jogger was killed," Hotch said. "He can only have sex with Linda when he's revisiting his crimes."

"But…if that's the case, what were they doing in the park where we picked them up?" I furrowed my brow.

Without a word, Hotch stepped forward and walked into the interrogation room with them.

" _I need you to write down for me all the places he took you to have sex_ ," Hotch said, sliding a spare piece of paper over to the girl. Emily handed her a pen.

" _Okay_ ," Linda whispered.

Moments later, Hotch left with the list in a file folder and then went into the other room. I stepped closer and focused my ears on the interrogation in there now. From my angle, I could hardly see Hotch in the window, and then I could faintly make out David standing up next to him.

" _The DA's not gonna need to negotiate a deal with you_ ," Hotch said to Olson. He then handed the folder to David and exited the room.

David looked at the list and glanced at the murderer before reading it out loud.

"' _Cedar Park, Edgewater Channel, Cuyahoga Valley Park, Euclid Creek'. We'll send units in the morning to search for the bodies_ ," he said.

There was a tense silence before Olson spoke again.

" _How'd you find out?_ " he asked.

" _Eric_ ," his attorney said in a warning tone.

" _Is it something that I did?_ " Olson continued. He wanted to be profiled so badly.

" _You needed to revisit the crime scenes because it was the only way for you to get a gratifying sexual release. But revisiting the scenes wasn't enough. You had to capture it on film, put it on your computer, display it on your wall, so you could look at it every day_ ," David indulged him a little.

" _Eric, we should talk privately_ ," the attorney said. " _This isn't over._ "

" _I always knew I'd end up back in prison_ ," Olson ignored the attorney. " _Just a matter of when. You can come interview me if you want. I read in one of your books, that's how you built your behavioral database, right? Maybe you can learn something from me. I got a lot of questions myself. I'll be honest with you if you're honest with me. 'Cause the one thing you always ask is the one that I don't understand. Why? I have no idea why. I see a guy walking down the street with a stupid look on his face and I wanna bash him over the head with a bottle. To me that's normal. It's weird to me that no one else feels that way. It's all I think about. I can't stop._ "

Seconds later, the attorney stepped out of the room with his briefcase and walked away. But David sat back down.

* * *

"For Christ's sake, they still want me to finish the book tour. I've told them I'm done a million times," David grumbled, pocketing his cell phone. He had just gone to visit Zoe Hawkes' grave and was finishing packing up in his hotel room. I decided to stay behind and 'help him'.

"You're a hot commodity," I smirked at him, standing near one of his bedside tables, by a small trashcan.

"Don't remind me," David mumbled, zipping up his bag.

My right shoe felt a little loose around my ankle and I crouched down to re-tie it. While I was down there, I couldn't help but notice there was a monogrammed piece of paper in the trash with something written on it.

"Um…who's Theresa?" I asked as I stood up, an uncomfortable amount of pressure sitting on my chest.

David turned and looked at me. He didn't seem guilty. And the paper wasn't crumpled up, so he clearly didn't feel he had anything to hide. But I couldn't help feeling uneasy about a woman giving my man her number.

"She ran the last bookstore I spoke at," he told me.

"And she left you her number?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"What can I say? I'm a _hot commodity_ ," David grinned, stepping closer to me. "I didn't call her. I threw that out the moment I found it."

"You're never going on tour again," I deadpanned, wrapping my arms around him and kissing him on the lips. "Oh, by the way, thank you for the gift you sent to the office. I loved it."

"Good, I'm glad," David beamed at me. "I was afraid you'd already read it since you love Javier Bardem so much and he was in the movie, but I guess I had nothing to worry about. I'm surprised it arrived so early, though. I sent it out the day I left for Cleveland."

"Wait…what are you talking about?" I furrowed my brow and backed out of his embrace.

"I bought a copy of _No Country for Old Men_ at one of the stores I was speaking at and had it mailed to Quantico for you," he explained slowly, searching my face.

"You…you didn't send me a belated Valentine's Day gift?"

"I figured I'd give you your gift when I came home," he winked at me suggestively. "Why? What's wrong?" he asked in a more serious tone, taking my elbows in his hands.

"So you _didn't_ send me flowers?" I asked.

"No. You told me corny romantic gestures are lost on you," David squeezed my elbows gently. "Someone sent you flowers?"

I gulped. "I guess Morgan was right—I do have a secret admirer."

* * *

 **Merry Christmas, for those who celebrate!**


	24. Omnivore

**"Hi, Mom," I** said cheerfully, answering my cell phone at my desk.

" _Did you hear the news?_ " she asked in a frightened tone.

"What? Are you okay? What news?" I furrowed my brow.

Reid was sitting on Emily's desk, having been talking to us and Morgan. They all stopped and gave me a look and I shrugged back at them.

" _A couple was murdered on Route 128 last night._ "

"…Okay," I said slowly, wondering what she was getting at.

" _I-It must be a copycat. It can't really be him after all these years._ "

"Mom, relax. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on. Who are you talking about?"

" _The Reaper. Sick bastard's got an even sicker fan._ "

"Oh my God," I whispered, my eyes widening.

I had my doubts that it was really a copycat, but either way, the Reaper's murders were gruesome. As much as I hoped he was dead, it was terrifying to think there could possibly be another person just like him.

" _I'm so scared, Hunter. Once was more than enough._ "

"I'm sure the police are—"

" _They couldn't catch him a decade ago. What makes you think they will now?_ "

"…the official request? We haven't been invited yet, sir," JJ said as she followed Hotch down the stairs into the bullpen.

"We will be," Hotch said shortly, a file in his hands as he stormed away from the media liaison.

JJ stopped in her tracks. She made a noise of annoyance and held her arms in a W-shape, slapping them down on the side of her thighs. "Well, it looks like we're going to Boston."

" _Hunter?_ "

"Uh, don't worry about it, Mom," I responded, putting the pieces together. "Seriously."

" _Why? Is your team coming here?_ "

I stood up, watching Hotch's retreating figure. "Gotta go."

* * *

"'The Reaper is driven by a need to dominate, control, and manipulate'," Hotch read from the file in his hands.

He was standing in the aisle of the jet, giving us all the information he had collected back during the Reaper's original run. The killer had disappeared and everyone had assumed he died or was arrested for something else—until Hotch learned of a deal made by the lead detective at the time. Tom Shaunessy, who had recently passed away, had been contacted by the Reaper and told that he would stop killing if they stopped investigating. And that deal ran out the second Shaunessy kicked the bucket.

"So then why would he offer a deal that would stop him from doing that?" Emily asked from the table across the aisle from me.

"Well, killing gave him power. But after so many, the payoff began to diminish. So he decided to switch tactics," Hotch told her. "Offering the deal gave him the ultimate power, better even than killing. He manipulated the police into voluntarily surrendering."

"He even got it in writing," Reid commented in the seat beside Emily, looking at the newspaper ad Shaunessy had paid for that accepted the deal.

"He won," JJ stated. "Why start killing again?"

"Well, because the only person who knew he won, the person he made the deal with, just died," Morgan said.

"Narcissistic killers need other people to recognize their power," David said. "That's why they contact the media."

"So how did he stop for ten years?" Emily asked.

"In _Night of the Reaper_ , the author suggests he had been arrested for an unrelated crime or died," Reid picked up the book sitting on the table before him.

"I can still remember the news reports on him back in the day. My mother used to change the channel any time they talked about him. Creeped her out. But when he disappeared, all I heard from my mother were her theories. 'He's dead', 'karma finally caught up with him', 'he's burning in Hell'," I ticked off my fingers. "And she was far from the only one thinking that. Narcissist like the Reaper, those comments are bound to piss him off."

"Perhaps he's trying to correct that misconception," Reid nodded to me.

"What has he been doing all this time?" JJ asked.

"Planning what he would do if he started killing again," Hotch answered solemnly.

"So, from '95-'98, he shoots, stabs, and bludgeons twenty-one victims," Morgan said, sifting through the photographs. "Men, women, all ages, all types."

"No specific victimology or MO," I looked at Hotch. "How did you build a profile from that?"

"We didn't," he shook his head. "Shaunessy sent us home before we had a chance.

"BTK, the Zodiac, and the Reaper all have similarities. They're all highly intelligent, disciplined, sadistic killers who name themselves in the press," Hotch finished.

"Highly intelligent may be a bit of an understatement," Reid commented. "The Reaper and the Zodiac Killer have never been arrested. And the BTK Killer was only caught after twenty-five years because he went to the press to counter a book that said he'd died, moved away, or been locked up, just like this one."

"Speaking of the media, when this gets out, it's going to be a frenzy," JJ warned us. "If they get wind of _this_ ," she held up the plastic-encased note the Reaper gave Shaunessy, which featured the Reaper's calling card—a pyramid with an eye in it, drawn in red ink, "they're going to be all over the Boston police."

"The longer we can float the copycat story, the better chance we'll have of catching him," Hotch said.

"My mom's already in a frenzy," I sighed. "She, uh, called me today and confirmed that the copycat story is working."

"McCarthy, I don't think I need to remind you that nothing from our investigation gets out, even to your family," he looked down at me in my swivel seat.

"I wouldn't dare, Hotch," I replied, annoyed that he thought I wouldn't know any better.

"Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan, go to the field office, set up shop, go through everything there," Hotch ordered. "JJ, McCarthy and Reid, we'll go to the crime scene."

* * *

Route 128 was littered with cop cars, investigators, and the press. Hotch hopped out of our Suburban and went to speak with Sergeant O'Mara, who hopefully would be our point when he officially allowed us in.

After what seemed like a slightly tense conversation culminating in Hotch handing O'Mara the offer note, Hotch waved us over and we got out of the SUV and went under the yellow tape.

"This is SSA Jennifer Jareau, SSA Hunter McCarthy, and Dr. Spencer Reid, Sergeant Mike O'Mara," Hotch introduced.

"Uh, we're setting up at the field office," JJ told O'Mara.

"Okay. I'm done here," O'Mara said, and then gestured past us to another officer. "Give them anything they want." He handed Hotch back the note and started walking away with JJ in tow.

"Thank you," Hotch said quietly.

"Nina Hale, nineteen, and Evan Harvey, twenty-three," Reid reported from his file.

I glanced away from my picture of the bloodied, bespectacled face of Evan Harvey to the blood on the pavement below.

"Nina's throat was slashed and she was stabbed forty-six times. Evan was bludgeoned and then shot. No shell casings were found."

"He preferred revolvers, .44 Magnum," Hotch said, walking closer to the car, which had the eye symbol painted on in blood. "'The younger the female victim, the more time he spends with them, usually with a knife'."

"Tan line on her wrist. Probably wearing a watch of some sort," Reid was looking through his file as well.

"Do we have his wallet?" Hotch turned suddenly and asked an investigator, who handed him the item in question. "The Reaper took items from each victim and placed them on the next, so as to make sure we knew it was him." Hotch opened up the wallet and looked inside. "No corrective lens requirement."

"The glasses aren't his?" I murmured.

"He only took glasses from one victim—the ninth. We should have found them on the tenth and we didn't. They were never found," Hotch told me.

"What was so special about the ninth victim?" Reid asked.

"He survived," I gulped, and Hotch nodded to me.

* * *

"George Foyet, twenty-eight, was the ninth victim and the only one to survive the Reaper," Hotch told us while Reid was using his laptop to present the pictures on the screen we were using.

The first picture of George was one I had seen before on the news. He was an average-looking white man with rectangular glasses. The second one was new to my eyes. He was propped against a bunch of pillows in a hospital bed, his naked chest displaying countless stitched-up stab wounds.

"Not for lack of trying," David commented beside me at the boardroom table just as a few close-ups of the wounds appeared onscreen. He nudged my knee with his under the table and I had to bite the inside of my lips to keep myself from smiling.

"Amanda Bertrand, nineteen, his date for the evening, was not as lucky," Hotch continued, pictures of the young brunette showing up now. "He likes to attack them inside or near their cars, at night, on poorly lit, less populated roads."

"Foyet said he approached them pretending to be a lost tourist. In the hospital, we put Foyet with a sketch artist," O'Mara chimed in from the other side of me.

The sketch artist's rendition popped up, revealing the killer to be another average-looking guy with short hair and a hood over his head.

"The Reaper always uses some sort of ruse to get close to and spend time with his victims," Hotch said.

"Uh, the eye, as he depicts it," Reid held up the note with the symbol drawn on it, "appears to be the Eye of Providence, a symbol adopted by the US government and incorporated into the Great Seal in 1782 with the words, ' _annuit coeptis_ ' inscribed beneath. That's Latin for 'providence'—or fate—'has favored our undertakings'."

Two pictures came up—one of the eye drawn on a car door, the other of the word 'fate' written on the hood of a car, both done in blood.

"The Reaper seems to see himself as the personification of fate," Reid finished.

"So, how did Foyet survive?" Emily wondered.

Reid pressed a button on the laptop and an audio box appeared.

" _911, what's your emergency?_ " an operator asked.

" _I just murdered two more_ ," a deep voice responded.

" _Excuse me, sir, did you say you murdered someone?_ "

" _Victims eight and nine. By a silver Toyota on Riverton, past the Tyson Quarry_."

"That call was made from a payphone about a mile from the crime scene," I piped up, nudging David back. "EMTs arrived fifteen minutes later. Bertrand was DOA, Foyet was barely breathing."

"So the Reaper made one of these calls after each of his killings, telling the police where to find the bodies?" Emily looked at me.

"Until this one, the ninth," Hotch took over. "If he hadn't made this call, Foyet wouldn't have been found in time. The call saved him."

"So the Reaper didn't make any 911 calls after this one," Derek reiterated, to which Hotch shook his head.

JJ's cell phone rang and she pulled it out. "Yeah?" she said quietly into the receiver.

"Looks like he learned his lesson," Emily remarked.

"There's a reason he left Foyet's glasses at the last crime scene," Hotch held up the baggie that held said glasses. "Foyet could be in danger."

"We'll find him," Emily got up, Morgan at her elbow. David got up as well, but not before nudging me one more time.

"Uh, Hotch, there's a reporter outside, insisting on speaking with you. Roy Colson. He says he knows you," JJ spoke up.

Hotch nodded and silently got to his feet.

* * *

" _The Reaper's got a copycat, huh?_ " my brother Eddie said to me over the phone. I was surprised he was calling me this late at night. " _Wait, don't tell me—'that's classified'_."

I rolled my eyes, flopping back onto my hotel room bed. "Mom called you too?"

" _Twice_."

"Of course she did."

" _She's pretty freaked out, if you couldn't tell_."

"Oh, I could," I grinned. "I told her not to worry about it."

" _Are you and the team in Boston now?_ "

"Since when do you care about my whereabouts?" I deflected.

" _That was a yes if I've ever heard one_ ," Eddie snorted. " _I'm telling mom._ "

"Eddie," I snapped, jolting up. The bottom of my stomach had fallen out. "Stop. Seriously."

There was no sound on the other line. He was probably taken aback, as I had never spoken to him like that before.

"I'm…I'm on a case. That's all I'm going to say. Everything else is—"

" _Classified. Right_ ," Eddie filled in. " _Be safe and have fun in, uh…Georgia_."

"Thanks," I smiled bitterly. "I will."

I hung up my phone and rubbed my temples for a moment. Then I pulled on my charcoal colored quarter-zip and tied my hair back into a messy bun. Just as I finished, someone knocked on my door and I hoped it was who I thought it might be.

"Hey," I said as I opened the door and found David standing there. "Come in."

Without a single word, he entered and I shut the door behind him. As soon as we heard the click, David pulled me into his arms and kissed my forehead. I melted against him and rested my head on his shoulder.

"This is just what I need," I mumbled.

"Everything okay?" David asked, rubbing circles into my back.

I didn't want to tell him about the conversation I just had with my brother, where I had somehow failed to deflect efficiently. I knew Eddie wouldn't say anything, but if he did and word got out, I would've been in deep shit.

"My family has been calling me," I sighed. "They want to talk to me about this whole quote-unquote 'copycat' thing and it's just…it's hard because I know can't tell them anything. I'm not…I don't… Keeping things from my loved ones weighs on me a lot."

David stopped rubbing circles and took a step back to look at me. "Is this about us?" he asked.

"Not entirely," I shrugged. "But our situation is not _helping_ , that's for sure."

"You know why we can't go public yet," he grabbed my hands and squeezed them.

"Yeah, but it's still an added weight on my shoulders. And a heavy one, at that."

"I'm sorry, _bella_ , I really am. I just think it's for the best," he kissed my forehead again.

"I know," I whispered. "But I don't know how much longer I can stand this. I hate hiding it from everyone. Especially Emily and Morgan."

"Just a little while longer," David pulled me into his arms once more.

We held each other in silence. I nuzzled my forehead into the curve of David's neck and breathed in the scent of his cologne while his fingers gently stroked my back. Then his phone rang in his back pocket. I let go of him reluctantly and sat down on the foot of my bed. With a sigh, he pulled it out and answered the call.

"Rossi," he said. I watched as his mouth closed into a tight line. "I'm on my way."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"There's been another one."

* * *

An older couple, the Lanessas, had been found slain in their car on an isolated road. Nina Hale's watch had been left on Diane Lanessa's wrist and Arthur's wedding ring was nowhere to be found. The Reaper had rifled through Diane's wallet to take a picture of the Lanessa family and write, " _FATE?_ " over it in blood, sticking it up under the passenger seat visor.

"The Reaper fits a profile we refer to as an omnivore," Hotch said.

It felt very strange to be on the receiving end of a profile, to stare up at Hotch and Rossi where they stood at the board. I was sitting in a chair next to Reid, listening to Hotch deliver the profile he had created on his own after Shaunessy had shooed him away.

"Unlike most serial killers, an omnivore doesn't target a specific victim type. Although he tends to focus on his younger female victims with his knife, he essentially is a predator who will kill anyone," Hotch continued.

"Why is he so democratic?" O'Mara asked.

"Because his kills aren't just about his victims. He needs recognition. He needs us to know."

"The symbols, the placement of prior victims' possessions on subsequent victims—it's all for us," David added.

"Why?" O'Mara asked.

"Power," Hotch said. "The Shaunessy letter is the clearest example of this. He manipulated Tom Shaunessy into literally surrendering to him."

"The burden was too much to bear. In a very real sense, Tom Shaunessy was the Reaper's twenty-second victim," David looked around the room.

"Like BTK Killer, Dennis Rader, the Reaper is extremely disciplined. In his everyday life, this will very likely make him so inflexible, he can't keep close relationships or work closely with others," Hotch pointed out.

"I believe our killer has another interest that may give us the best opportunity to catch him," David glanced at me. "The Reaper's last victim was an older woman. He killed her quickly, with a single shot. The prior, younger victim he spent more time with and stabbed forty-six times."

"Why?" O'Mara asked again.

"He pays special attention to his younger female victims, and his weapon of choice with them is the knife, a substitute instrument for bodily penetration," Hotch explained.

"And the younger the victim, the more time and effort he spends," Rossi said. "I think our guy is a hebephile."

"Hebephile?" O'Mara repeated.

"Someone who's attracted to adolescent, post-pubescent children," Reid told him.

"Teenagers," I nodded, noticing that Emily was walking into the room.

"Look for men with access and authority—high school teachers, counselors, coaches, and anyone who's been charged with sex crimes against teenage girls in the last ten years," Hotch said, then turning to Emily, who had just come to his side. "That's all for now, thank you." And he followed her into the small room she and Morgan had been sitting in, on the line with Garcia as she searched for George Foyet.

* * *

But even Garcia couldn't find George Foyet. The man had gone completely off the grid after what he had been through. The only way Hotch got ahold of the man was by using an alias offered to him by Roy Colson, author of _Night of the Reaper_.

The next morning, David and Hotch went to pay the survivor a visit. He had reluctantly given them a list of his aliases and residences he used to avoid the Reaper finding him. And when David and Hotch returned to the station, they found Roy Colson waiting for them with a photocopy of the Shaunessy letter, which had been sent to Colson's office.

In the middle of the night, a bus had been terrorized by the Reaper. He had called Hotch at his hotel shortly before this massacre and offered him a Shaunessy-esque deal, but Hotch didn't bite. Seven bodies were found shot and/or stabbed, the driver being found with Arthur Lanessa's wedding ring. The Reaper had written, "NO DEAL 1488 201 1439" on the window panes.

"He never used code before. Why now?" Hotch asked as he, David, Reid, and I examined the photos of the numbers on the windows.

"They're not part of a pattern or equation," Reid pointed out. "I mean, mathematically, they're insignificant."

"Maybe so, but I know I've seen them before," David said from directly across the table in the station from me.

"Foyet says he likes to attack people in their cars. Tonight, he hit a bus," Hotch stated.

"Which is why Foyet only takes a bus," David mused.

"It was the number seven," Hotch stepped over to the bus map we had pinned up on a board. "And it stops right in front of Foyet's apartment."

"He knows where Foyet lives," I folded my arms across my chest, staring at where Hotch's finger was on the map.

"And he wants us to know it," Hotch looked at me with intense eyes.

"1439," Reid murmured. Then he looked up at Hotch. "The apartment you interviewed him in today was 1439 Yarbrough."

David quickly reached into the pocket inside his suit jacket and pulled out his notepad, opening it on the table to a certain page right next to the picture of the numbers.

"The other addresses he gave us," he said. "201 South Brookline. 1488 Edenhurst."

"The numbers on the bus are Foyet's addresses," I breathed.

"We'll split up and cover each address," Hotch ordered, and we all turned to leave.

I went with Hotch and we hurried up the stairs to the second-floor apartment. After we entered, we found nothing but an empty apartment.

"We got nothing," I said into my comm. device as Hotch and I went down the stairs.

" _Same thing here_ ," David responded. " _Have you heard from Morgan?_ "

"Not a word," I exchanged glances with Hotch.

* * *

Emily, David, Reid, Hotch, and I had met up at the station, still having heard no word from Morgan. There was a heavy spot of pressure on my chest and it only got heavier when we heard that shots had been fired at the very house Morgan and O'Mara had driven to.

I barely waited for Emily to pile into a Suburban with me before I sped off, turning the siren on before buckling my own seatbelt. I could practically smell the burning rubber as I drove, but I was much more concerned with finding out if Derek was okay.

When we stopped in front of the house, we were met with an abundance of CSIs and paramedics. Emily stayed right behind me as I rushed into the house. I almost ran into a gurney and I could have sworn my heart had stopped along with my legs. Two men were pushing it through the house to put it in the back of the ambulance on the street, but they stopped as soon as they saw our FBI jackets.

There was a body shrouded in a white sheet, strapped to the gurney. I couldn't see the face, but I could feel the tears about to well up in my eyes. Emily grabbed onto my left wrist as I reached out with my right hand to lift the sheet. Before making another move, I closed my eyes to prepare myself for whoever it was underneath.

"Mick," called out a familiar voice from the other room just as I revealed O'Mara's blood-streaked face; his throat had been slashed. "Prentiss. I'm right over— _fuck_!"

Breathing a sigh of relief that Morgan was still alive, I replaced the sheet over O'Mara's face and hurried over to where Morgan sat with a paramedic. I could faintly hear the sound of Hotch's vehicle approaching.

"What the hell happened?" I breathed, my hands on my hips.

"The Reaper," Morgan grunted. "He was here. He came at me and we went through the window."

Morgan grimaced as the paramedic pulled shards of glass out of his shoulder, just above the gauze taped to his bicep. He had something clenched in his other fist, but I couldn't see what. Emily and I exchanged glances with each other.

Just then, Hotch stepped into the living room and came over to us. "You all right?" he asked.

"He took my credentials," Morgan told him bitterly.

"The important thing is you're okay," Hotch said slowly.

Morgan raised his hand and showed us the bullet casing he had been holding. "He left me this."

"Power and manipulation," Hotch assured him. "Don't let him get to you."

"Yeah, right," Morgan said under his breath, looking at the casing. " _Ow_! Come on, man!" he turned to look at the paramedic.

"Sorry," the paramedic muttered.

"Prentiss, Mick, he's telling me, 'I had you'," Derek looked up at us, his face marred with shallow cuts from his fall through the window.

"Morgan, you're alive," Emily reminded him.

"You know why?" he asked.

"It doesn't really matter," I whispered.

"I'm sitting here because I was knocked out cold. He couldn't torture me," Morgan stared into my eyes intensely.

"He likes to interact with his victims," Emily said, putting it together, "to tell them he's going to kill them before he does."

"Or by letting them know he could have," Morgan lifted up the casing once more.

"Hotch is right. He's just trying to get into your head," I offered him a tight-lipped smile, just as the paramedic stepped away.

"Right or wrong, he had me," Morgan thrust on his jacket quickly, standing up from where he sat.

* * *

"Why is he so focused on Foyet? What's so special about him?" Hotch asked as we deliberated back at the station.

A fuck-ton of blood had been found on the kitchen floor. There was an obvious sign of a struggle and someone had been dragged out of the kitchen before the Eye of Providence had been drawn on the open door. It was only safe to assume that the blood had come from George Foyet himself.

"He was his only surviving victim," JJ said from across the table. "The only one he couldn't defeat."

"But he's not a threat. Defeating him would be no great accomplishment," Hotch countered. "There's something there that we're missing."

"What about the girlfriend, Amanda Bertrand?" JJ asked. "What do we know about her?"

"Nineteen, freshman, came over from Michigan for school. Foyet was a teacher's assistant in one of Amanda's courses," I paraphrased from my file.

"Michigan. Where the Reaper had Shaunessy post the personal ad," Hotch said.

"That can't be a coincidence," JJ cocked an eyebrow.

"He told us she was the love of his life, that he was gonna propose," David added.

"But she just got here from Michigan. They only met when the class started," Morgan said, a butterfly stitch on his cheek.

"How long had she been in the class?" Hotch looked at me.

" _Four weeks_ ," Emily said, looking up from her own file.

"So it was either love at first sight or what?" JJ wondered.

"Foyet was lying?" Morgan suggested.

"He's a twenty-eight year-old teacher's assistant in freshman classes," Hotch said as he turned to the phone sitting in front of him.

"That gives him plenty of access to young girls," David commented.

"Garcia," Hotch addressed the phone, putting it on speaker.

" _I'm here_ ," she responded.

"Uh, what are Foyet's aliases?" Hotch muttered to David, who handed him his notepad. "I want you to look up in Boston City records, uh, Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden, and William Parker. Try the Department of Education."

" _Well played, sir. They all work for the Department of Education, they're all substitute teachers, and they all teach computer science_ ," Garcia responded.

"High school?" Hotch asked.

" _Yeah—oops. Scratch that. They're not_ all _working for the Department of Education_."

"They're not?"

" _No. William Parker was fired for alleged inappropriate behavior with his female students_."

Hotch looked at David, then down at the table.

"Hotch?" JJ tried to break him out of his reverie.

"Colson went to see Foyet," he finally said. "Garcia, I need you to locate Roy Colson's cell phone. George Foyet is the Reaper." His voice had gotten louder with every word and he stood up quickly, rifling through his file.

" _Oh, God. Uh… Okay, triangulating now. I got it. Uh, 2633 South Budlong_."

"That must be an address that Foyet didn't give us," Morgan figured.

* * *

"He stabbed Amanda Bertrand to death, drove a mile, called 911, went back, and inflicted those wounds on himself," Reid reported from the backseat as I sped behind the other Suburban, both of our sirens blaring.

"He knew EMS would get there in time to save him," Emily nodded. "And he knew with the phone call and the severity of the wounds, they never would have suspected him."

"And that sick bastard put himself at the core of the investigation," I said, stealing a phrase from my own mother. " _Everything_ they had about the Reaper came from him."

"He left his own glasses at the crime scene, he pointed us right back in his direction, and still we didn't see it," Emily shook her head.

Soon we reached South Budlong and I turned off my siren, parking behind the other Suburban. Our entire team met up in the front and Hotch directed everyone except for himself, David, and me to go around one side of the house, while we snuck around the other.

Guns at the ready, we checked every window we passed, ultimately finding a door on the side of the house. We entered the unlocked door and I was the last to walk into the drab house, checking wherever David or Hotch didn't look.

"…I won," a man's voice said from the room we were about to enter. I looked to Hotch and he nodded, silently confirming that the voice belonged to Foyet.

"It's over," Hotch said as we sidled into the small dining room with our weapons up.

A man in a sweater sat back-to, typing away at his laptop. This man was Roy Colson, the journalist. Across the table from him, George Foyet sat, a gun pointed directly at the writer.

"Stop," Foyet grumbled, standing up, gun still pointed at Roy. He stared at Hotch with anger in his dark eyes. "I'll kill him."

"You need him to write your story," Hotch said.

"I'm takin' him with me," Foyet replied. "I'll let him go as soon as I'm safe."

"No, you're not."

"I said, I'll kill him," Foyet's voice raised.

"You kill him, I kill you," Hotch said in an even tone.

"You think I'm afraid to die?" Foyet simpered.

"You're not afraid. You're greedy and narcissistic. You want the recognition that's going to come from the book that he's gonna write. You want the fame that's gonna come from the media. It's gonna be like Bundy."

"I'm gonna be bigger than Bundy," Foyet said, just as Morgan came in through the doorway in the back of the room, Emily and Reid following shortly after.

"Well, you can't enjoy it if you're dead," Hotch pointed out.

"If you know me so well, how come somebody had to die to bring you here?"

"That's your choice, not mine. You're the serial killer."

"That's right," Foyet whispered. Then he turned around and looked at Morgan behind him. "Hello, Derek."

With a smirk on his face, Foyet put the gun down on the table. Morgan grabbed him roughly from behind, making the Reaper grunt in surprise.

"Where's my badge?" Morgan snarled. He took Foyet's graying hair in his hand and pulled his head back. "Where is it, you son of a bitch?"

I lowered my gun along with the rest of the team and stared at Foyet, who had another smirk on his face.

"I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize," he sneered.

"Keep dreamin'," Morgan started marching him out of the room and I stepped forward to open the door for them.

* * *

We had barely even returned to Quantico when we got news that George Foyet had escaped.

"Guards found him in his cell, vomiting blood and convulsing. They rushed him to the prison hospital," JJ caught David and Hotch up to speed. The two had been enjoying a cup of coffee in the latter's office, but were now being led down to our level by the media liaison.

"Get me the US Marshals Office," Hotch ordered as they approached the stairs.

"I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance. He said they'd call us if they needed us," JJ told him, walking over to meet Emily, Reid, and myself in the bullpen.

"The Boston Field Office just identified documents from Foyet's house," Emily said, hanging up her cell phone. She gestured to Reid and myself, who were holding said documents, which had been faxed over.

"They're schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts for the East Woburn Correctional Facility," Reid said, handing his documents to Hotch.

"He had the schematics," Hotch said.

"Not just for Woburn. For every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts," I added, giving him mine.

"And ten years to plan," David said.

"They're gonna find him, right?" Garcia turned to us from where she and Morgan stood, watching the news footage on the TV.

Hotch stared at the mugshot of Foyet on the screen. "No, they're not."

My cell started buzzing in the back pocket of my jeans and I pulled it out, seeing that my mother was calling me. I gulped and ignored it.

"He said he'd be more famous than we knew," Morgan also turned around from the TV. "And he was right."

* * *

 **I hope you all had a safe and happy New Years! And may your 2018 be as awesome as you are!**


	25. The Big Wheel

**"** ** _Happy birthday to_** _you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Hunter, happy birthday to you_ ," my team sang to me, causing my cheeks to heat up. I always hated it when people sang "Happy Birthday" to me.

"Make a wish!" Garcia chirped from her seat next to Morgan.

"There's no candles to blow out, though," I held my arms up in a W-shape.

"Well…then…take a bite of the cake they gave you," Garcia suggested.

"If you insist," I grinned.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of something. _I wish…I wish that I could tell someone about David and me._ It was likely not going to happen, but it was a worth a try. I opened my eyes and grabbed my fork to bite into the slice of cake our waiter had given me when someone—cough, cough, _Garcia_ —let it slip that we were celebrating my birthday.

"Yay, it's official!" the tech analyst clapped her hands, initiating an embarrassing round of applause from the team. "You're thirty!"

"Don't remind me," I joked.

"Age is nothing but a number, _McCarthy_ ," Emily pointed at me from across the table.

My cheeks heated up again, only this time because all I could think of was David's hand, which had been on my bare thigh under the tablecloth for most of the dinner.

"Indeed, it is," I murmured before I took a sip of my Moscato.

I was wearing a little black dress and a pair of Louboutin pumps that Emily had forced me to buy when she took me on a shopping spree once. I curled my hair and let it hang over my right shoulder, as well as dipping into my oft-forgotten make-up box. I would be lying if I said I didn't put this amount of effort into my appearance for anyone but David.

Emily and Morgan had made a big deal about the seating arrangement that night. Well, to their credit, they thought they were being subtle, but when JJ almost sat to my right, they loudly started grunting and gesturing to the seat between the two of them. They thought they were doing me a big favor by letting David sit beside me, and they were—just not in the way they thought they might be.

"So, Miss Hunter," JJ leaned over the table. "Auld Dubliner after this?"

"It's a Monday—"

"Yeah, Mick," Morgan smirked at me. "You're thirty years-old now—you should have thirty regrets by the end of the night."

"Well, I regret inviting _you_ to my birthday dinner _,_ so I guess I'm down to twenty-nine already," I smirked back at him.

"Ooh, _nice_ ," Emily held up her hand for a high-five, which I gladly obliged.

"See, now that was cold," Morgan winced good-humoredly.

"Play nice, children," Hotch said from the other end of the table, where he sat next to Reid.

"What's the verdict, Miss Hunter?" JJ arched her blonde eyebrow at me.

"Ah, what the hell?" I shrugged. "Let's do it."

* * *

"'What the hell?' she said. 'Let's do it,' she said," Emily groaned, sitting down at her desk.

"'It's a Monday,' she also said," I pointed out. "I have Tylenol if you need it, my love."

"I'll take the whole bottle, please."

Grinning, I went to grab the medicine from my desk when a squeaky mail cart started rolling through the bullpen.

"So, how was the rest of your night?" Emily asked, smiling weakly.

"Oh, it was…" I searched for a word. I obviously couldn't tell her how David spent the night. "It was nice. I just went straight to bed."

"And overall you had a good time?"

"Ten outta ten," I splayed out my fingers in the air. "Thank you so much for coming."

"Well, when I found out Rossi was _paying_ , I really couldn't say no."

I smirked and shook my head, hearing the squeaky mail cart come closer.

"SSA McCarthy?" the mail boy said, pulling out an envelope.

"Hi," I smiled and waved. And then he gave me said envelope.

"Will you do me a solid," Emily reached toward the mail boy before he walked off, "and grease those wheels?"

"U-Uh…" he glanced at me.

"Thank you, have a nice day," I smiled at him and quickly handed the Tylenol over to Emily.

"Who's sending mail to your desk?" Emily asked.

"It's weird. I don't recognize the return address," I furrowed my brow, analyzing the envelope.

"Where's it from?"

"Baltimore. I don't know anyone from Baltimore."

"There's no name on it?"

"It just says 'CD'."

"Maybe you shouldn't open it," Emily shook the bottle until two pills fell into the palm of her hand.

"Well, if someone sent it _here_ , then it's been screened, right?" I shrugged. "It should be fine."

"Famous last words," Emily bounced her eyebrows, dry-swallowing the Tylenol.

Rolling my eyes, I opened up the envelope and pulled out a tacky thirtieth birthday card, like the kind your mother would purchase at a grocery store. I wondered if it may have been a card from a relative of mine who moved and I was never updated about it.

"No signs of anthrax so far," Emily peered over the partition between our desks.

"'Roses are red, pigs are dirty, your birthday has come, and now you are thirty'," I read the typed greeting from the card. "That's Robert Frost, isn't it?" I grinned at Emily as she capped the Tylenol bottle.

"What else does it say?" she asked me, not acknowledging my joke.

"Oh, there's just a…" my brow furrowed again.

"What is it?"

"It's signed with a heart…drawn in blue pen," I chewed on my lip.

"…And?" Emily asked.

"Someone sent flowers to my desk a couple months ago, right after Valentine's Day and there was a heart drawn on the tag in blue pen, just like this," I looked at her.

"You should have Garcia take a look at that envelope," Emily suggested.

"I will," I nodded.

"Hey, guys," JJ came out of the round table room and looked down at the two of us from the railing. "Grab Morgan and Reid. We've got a case."

Emily and I exchanged glances and I carefully put the envelope and card in the drawer the Tylenol had been in.

* * *

A close-up shot of a woman's eyes as she lay dying was on the screen in the round table room.

"Her name's Michelle Watson, a realtor murdered in Buffalo a week ago," JJ told us.

"Until yesterday they had nothing, no leads, and then they got this," Hotch stared at the screen.

"Buffalo PD received it from an unknown source yesterday," JJ clicked her remote.

"They able to trace it?" Emily asked as the video started.

"No, sent through an encrypted server from the Ukraine," Hotch told her.

"There's no sound," Morgan commented.

"Yeah, at first glance there doesn't seem to be a single frame to identify who shot it," Reid added.

I leaned my elbows on the table and watched the video of the unsub getting ready for the day. It was shot from his point of view and he clearly went through some pains to keep his face out of it, especially as he brushed his teeth.

"He even covered up the mirror," Reid finished, referring to the black trash bag that had been placed over the reflective surface.

"I've seen some crazy things sitting at this table, but that…why send that to the police?" Garcia asked.

"Well, maybe it's a taunt, to show the police how smart he is," I suggested.

"Catch me if you can," David caught my eye, staring for longer than he probably should have. Under his blazer, he was wearing a charcoal colored button-up with the top undone, just the way I liked it.

I ventured a tight-lipped smile back to him and then turned my head back to the screen, where our unsub had skipped ahead in time to show us his random act of kindness (before he fucking murdered a woman). He approached a middle-aged man and presumably his mother at their car. The man was packing something into the backseat and apparently dropped an item, which the unsub picked up for them.

"The two people in the video—they look directly at the unsub, but neither one seems to register that they're being filmed," Morgan said.

"I think it's probably a hidden camera," Reid said.

"Uh, the witnesses were able to give us enough for a sketch," JJ nodded to Emily next to me to start handing out the stack of sketches. "White male, early thirties, wearing glasses."

"That looks like an editing suite," Morgan said after the video skipped to another location, most likely in the unsub's apartment. There as a screen showing what looked like it could either be the start to a vintage porno or a home video—an old-fashioned-looking couple embracing passionately. This other video also appeared to have been shot through a pair of closet doors.

"So he not only films the murder, he edits it," David said, glancing back.

"Do we know what this is that's playing on the monitor?" Emily asked.

"Buffalo PD is concerned that it might be another filmed killing," Hotch told her.

"If it is, then we're not looking at just one murder, but two," I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Buffalo is underfunded, undermanned, and they need our help," Hotch said.

"Buffalo's a big gang town," Morgan raised his eyebrows.

"Murder in the last year alone was over 700 people," JJ added.

"Garcia, I need you to go through this frame-by-frame and put everything on disks," Hotch ordered.

"Yes, sir, I'm on it," Garcia stood from her seat and started to leave.

"Also, put together a go-bag," he continued. "If we get any more of these films, I want you on the ground taking point. Is that okay with you?"

I wondered if Garcia even _had_ a go-bag.

"Yes, sir, excellent," she said from the doorway in a small voice that sounded like she found the very idea as far from 'excellent' as possible. "Okay."

"Fast forward to the end," Hotch told JJ, turning his head from the awkwardly retreating Penelope Garcia. "There's something I want everyone to see."

JJ clicked past the stabbing of Michelle Watson—that part we had already seen—and stopped at a part where the unsub had a red marker in his hand.

"He's writing something," I breathed, watching as he printed two words on a white wall.

'HELP ME'

* * *

 _"In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present." –Francis Bacon_

"A serial killer askin' for help. Well, that's a new one on me," Morgan mused, staring at his copy of the 'HELP ME' picture.

"Attempt at sarcasm?" David asked from one of the swivel seats.

"What if he's sincere?" Hotch asked.

"Then he's deeply ambivalent. He wants to stop, but like an alcoholic, he simply can't."

"When we see him driving, his point of view is elevated," I noticed, looking at one of the stills in my file. "He's probably driving a van or an SUV."

"And the film stops where it starts—at his home," Emily said. "So we could _use_ the film to trace back, street by street, from the crime scene, right?"

"The film only lasts nine minutes," Reid pointed out. "And in this frame, he clearly looks at a clock," he held the photo out so most of us could see it, "and it's 9:22."

"And the autopsy says Michelle Watson's time of death was 4:30 in the afternoon. He edited out seven hours," I said.

"Garcia, look for unsolved murders of women in their early thirties who were stabbed, Buffalo and surrounding cities. Go back ten years," Hotch ordered.

"Wouldn't ViCAP have already picked up on that?" Morgan asked.

"Mm," Garcia grunted. "ViCAP only went web-based about a month ago, and Buffalo PD only recently uploaded the data."

"Michelle Watson's holding a day planner. They find that at the crime scene?" Morgan wondered as Garcia typed away.

"Yeah, that, her wallet, and all of her jewelry, including a three-karat diamond ring," Reid answered.

"So he's not financially-motivated," I nodded.

"First count," Garcia looked away from her screen, "I have twenty-two."

* * *

"…match Michelle's type—blonde, white, early thirties," Emily was saying to our point, a woman named Detective Henderson., as she and Hotch led her into our boardroom.

"The autopsy reports will help us determine which of these cases is connected," Hotch said on his way to the table in the room.

"I'll get 'em here right away," Henderson said to one of her officers in the room with us.

"We also need to take a look at the crime scenes, Detective Henderson," Hotch looked up at her.

"Of course," she replied.

"I'll stay and help Reid," David offered.

"McCarthy, you'll stay as well. I'll take Prentiss and Morgan," Hotch nodded.

I could feel David's eyes on the back of my head as Hotch left with Emily and Morgan. I gulped, not wanting to show any emotions about staying with him. Especially after Emily winked at me on her way out the door.

David slowly stepped past me, his arm grazing mine as he went to stand by Henderson. She was staring at the TV screen that was playing Michelle Watkins' death. I glanced over at the screen before I sat down across from Reid.

"Tell me," I heard Henderson start, "d'you think this is a one-off, or can I expect more films?"

"Not a one-off," David responded. "The filming of his kills makes him a sexual psychopath. We'll find more. Many more. Just like this one."

* * *

"'HELP ME' is in direct conflict with the psychology of a psychopath," David took the picture of the words off the board and turned to look at us, "and it's something I've never seen before."

"Psychopaths don't have the capacity to feel empathy towards others," Reid explained to Henderson.

"They can mimic it, but they can't feel it," David added, putting the picture down on the table.

"Then he didn't _mean_ it?" Henderson asked.

"Or someone or some _thing_ is showing him who he really is," I shrugged.

"Okay, friends, the video on this film is analog," Garcia said from behind her laptop. "It's since been digitized, but it is seriously degraded."

"Meaning what?" JJ asked.

"Meaning this kind of degradation only happens over at least a decade and thousands of repeated viewings."

"It's the only way he can get any release," David said.

"Then you're right. He's been doing this for ten years," Henderson looked at her.

"Uh, more like twenty," Garcia corrected. "The woman in this video—she's wearing a sweater I haven't seen since _Flashdance_."

I grinned, as did Detective Henderson.

"On the day of her death, the twenty-first," David looked down at the planner found at the most recent crime scene, "Michelle entered the name Robert at 4:00 PM."

"Yeah, we found no one connected to her with that name. And we think it's an alias," Henderson told him.

Reid hunched down over the planner. "Michelle's highly organized, she's precise, light of hand, s-so left handed," he murmured.

"How can you tell?" Henderson asked.

"Uh, the hardest point is where she starts, the lightest point is where she tails off," Reid elaborated. "In her case, she tails off to the right. It's weird…hmm…"

"What?" JJ asked.

"I'm not sure, but the number twenty-nine is circled twice in red ink and it tails off to the left. Whoever wrote that is right-handed."

JJ grabbed the remote on the table and turned on the hidden camera video, right where the unsub was writing 'HELP ME' on the wall."

"That person is right-handed and 'HELP ME' is written in red," JJ pointed out.

"The unsub wrote the circled twenty-nine," I bit my bottom lip.

"Guys," Garcia looked away from the calendar on the wall beside her. "Tomorrow's the twenty-ninth."

* * *

"Thanks," JJ turned off her cell phone as she came back into the boardroom. "Morgan thinks the unsub's glasses are the camera. You need to get a sketch of the unsub out to every camera shop in Buffalo."

"If he hunts within a comfort zone, then whichever of these camera shops he visits the most, that's the one he'll live closest to," David said to Henderson.

"All right, you heard the man," Henderson said to the officer in the room with us. He nodded, grabbed the stack of sketches, and left.

"Okay, Hotch also wants us to focus on victims found in controlled locations," JJ continued.

"Secure areas with little chance of witnesses," I said.

"And ones where he left the bodies where he killed them," David added, looking at me.

"Okay, based on that, June '98, Emily Flynn, found in her apartment, stabbed twenty-three times," Reid taped a picture of the woman in question onto the board.

"Hillary Habner, March 2000, found in her basement, stabbed eighteen times," I handed Reid another picture.

"Cindy Stagnal, April 2001, stabbed multiple times, found in her office," Henderson said.

"And May 1999, Vanessa Bright, twenty-nine, stabbed and found in her studio," JJ finished.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it appears as though we've found our timeline. It looks like our killer strikes almost exactly every twelve months," Reid said, putting all four of the pictures up.

"Oh my God," Henderson whispered sharply. "All these women, and he got away with it."

"I think we need to inform the media," JJ suggested. "Buffalo has a serial killer."

* * *

"There's no purse, no jewelry, nothing to ID her with," I noticed, lifting up the blanket that shrouded the body of the young black woman found in the alley the next day.

"Whereas with Michelle, he didn't care what he left behind," David said, staring down at me from the other side of the body. "He knew we couldn't connect her to him."

"Why did he cover her up and fold her arms across her chest?" Hotch asked from behind me.

"She can't be more than twenty-four," Henderson added. "That doesn't fit his victimology."

"Well, the chest wound matches that of Michelle Watson," Morgan pointed out as I covered her back up and stood.

"The way he's positioned her, the blanket, shows remorse," Hotch said.

"He probably knew her more intimately than the others," I took off my blue gloves and balled them up in my fast.

"That's somewhat of a leap," Henderson looked at me.

"Not when you consider this is the first time he dumped the body," David said.

"Unlike the others, he brought her body here and dumped it," I looked at him.

"Well," Henderson looked down at the victim, "someone will be missing her soon."

"Today's the twenty-ninth," Hotch said after an officer handed him a piece of paper. "He probably killed her last night. Whatever his plans are, he still has them." Hotch glanced down at the paper and handed it to David. "We're ready to give the profile."

* * *

"We've confirmed eleven kills over a ten-year period," David said to the group of officers we had amassed in the alleyway. "This makes twelve."

"All but one, blonde, white female, mid-to-late thirties," I added.

"This unsub has extreme obsessive-compulsive disorder. This woman doesn't fit his victimology," Hotch said. "He probably didn't target or even mean to kill her."

"Five camera shops in Buffalo were shown this sketch," Henderson held up the sketch in question. "The owner of Tarquinio's Camera Shop on Union Road recognized it. He knows him only as Vincent."

"He bought two 3-millimeter mini wireless cameras and had them retrofitted to his glasses," Morgan gestured to his face, as if he had his own pair of glasses on.

"He's well-versed in camera technology. He probably generates income from a related field," Hotch said.

"Stake out the shop, but keep a low profile," I said. "He walks in off the street, he politely waits his turn, he pays in cash."

"This is him," Hotch held up a security camera photo of the unsub in the store. "Black overcoat, black baseball cap. You'll get more from your sketch."

"Now, this last kill shows the most remorse. This guy's mobile, most likely in an SUV. Low-profile, mute in color," Morgan said.

"He's beginning to devolve. His OCD will get worse and he'll have a hard time hiding it. He will take bigger and bigger risks to achieve his ultimate goal," Hotch said.

"In Michelle Watson's day planner, he circled the number twenty-nine," I put my hands on my hips. "Today is the twenty-ninth, so we believe he may have something planned for today."

"He sent us this film as his way of reaching out. He may be ambivalent, but his OCD won't let him stop," Hotch told the police.

"Now, if he sees a heavy police presence and he's not done, he'll run," Morgan warned.

"The East Side is his comfort zone. This is where he lives," David chimed in.

"However random, anything out of the ordinary, please let us know," I said.

"Thank you very much," Hotch concluded, and everyone started to filter away. "Tell me again what the autopsy report said," he muttered to David.

"He seems to be killing once a year. And they were all, except for Michelle Watson, overkill," David told him. "He stabbed her just once."

"And hers was the only kill that he sent footage of to the police," Morgan said. "That's a definitive change."

"You're right. Call Reid and Prentiss. Tell them to go over the autopsy report again. We need to know why," Hotch looked at me.

"Can do," I nodded, pulling my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and stepping out of the alley.

* * *

Victim number ten, Joyce Wolcott had been stabbed thirty-two times a mere two years before Michelle Watson had been killed. And unfortunately, there had been a witness, so-to-speak: her blind son, Stanley, who, as it happens, was born on April twenty-ninth.

With David at my elbow, I stepped forward along the walkway towards the house. A young boy in a striped shirt sat on the front steps, his hands tracing the braille pages of the book on his lap, his eyes gazing up into nothing.

"Well, hello there, handsome," I said in my friendliest tone. "We're looking for Stanley Wolcott. Think you can help us find him?"

"Who wants to know?" he asked.

"My name's Hunter McCarthy—"

" _Hunter_? No offense, but you sound like a girl," he replied.

"That's because I am," I sighed. Although, I did have to admit that I wasn't nearly as annoyed this time because he was a kid. "I like to think my parents knew I was going to be an FBI agent when they named me."

"You're in the FBI? Cool," Stanley raised his eyebrows.

"Cool is right," I grinned. "Hey, isn't today your birthday?"

Before Stanley could respond with more than just a smirk, a young woman with blonde hair came outside behind the kid.

"Can I help you?" she asked in an accusatory tone.

"FBI," David said. The two of us displayed our credentials to her. "I'm sorry to do this today of all days, but we need to talk to Stanley. It's urgent."

* * *

"Stanley's been with me for nine months now," Kate, the blonde woman, said after reluctantly allowing us into her home to ask a few questions. "The adoption papers came through last week." She looked over at the blind boy lovingly as he carried a box to a whole stack of other boxes. "So we're moving to California."

Stanley reached down to tap one of the boxes a few times before placing his new box on top of it with minor difficulty. I noticed that he kept making a clicking noise with his tongue on one side of his mouth.

"Uh, Stanley's been blind since birth," Kate told us. "His mom didn't want him to use a cane so he, um…" she trailed off as the clicking got louder.

"My way around life," Stanley grinned, stepping away from the boxes.

I couldn't help but feel the corners of my lips turn up. There was something about that kid that just made my heart warm.

"It's called, uh, echolocation. It's where the sound bounces off objects, kind of like a bat uses sonar," Kate explained.

"I'm the Batman," Stanley said proudly.

"Well, Batman," I walked over to him and crouched in front of him, "my good friend David here and I need to ask you some questions. Is that okay?"

Stanley clicked his tongue and raised both of his small hands to the edges of my hairline. He trailed his fingers down the sides of my face, resting briefly under my eyes. He started to frown and I felt pressure building on my chest.

"This is about my mom, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah, it is," I murmured. "I need to ask you—"

"Have you found him?" Stanley interrupted, his fingers continuing down my cheeks.

Tension filled the room. I didn't know quite what to say.

"I can feel a lie," Stanley told me as his fingers left my chin.

"We're looking for him, Stan," I said carefully. "And we could really use your help."

Stanley nodded, his eyes far above my head. I could see his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Now, what I'm asking you to do might not be easy," I continued, taking his hands in mine.

"Will it help you catch him?"

"It could."

"No, I'm not sure about this," Kate piped up from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and saw her looking at David with wide eyes.

"It's okay," Stanley assured her. "I want to."

I turned back around and squeezed Stanley's hands. "Handsome _and_ brave."

Stanley took a deep breath to prepare himself.

"Okay," I said softly. "Two years ago, on that night, you were playing in the snow with your mom."

"She said my lips were turning blue. She told me to go in and get warm. She said it was getting dark," Stanley told him.

"So then you came inside and you took off your gloves," I said. "You took off your jacket. And you started to get warm. But after a while, she didn't come back in."

"Mom? Mom?" he called out.

"Stanley, what do you hear?"

"The snow is so thick. It covers the house, the yard. Everything's so quiet."

"You call out for her, but she doesn't call back."

"Mom? Mom!" Stanley's brow furrowed. "N-Now I hear something."

"What do you hear?" I asked gently.

"I think I can hear my mom."

"Is she talking?"

Stanley shook his head. "Crying."

"Now what do you do?"

"Go outside."

"Stanley, we can stop doing this now if you want," I let him know, seeing his eyes glisten.

"No. It's okay. I-I can do this," he told me, squeezing my hands back. Then he clicked his tongue a few more times as he relived his search for his mother.

"You're doing great, handsome," I smiled, even though he couldn't see me. "I'm right here, okay?"

Stanley's face crumpled. "Mom?" He clicked more.

"Can you hear her?"

"No. I need to find her." _Click-click-click_. "Mom?"

"Stanley…"

"S-S-Someone's here. I-I can feel them. It's not my mom."

"That's enough," Kate suddenly said, having bitten her tongue for so long. She walked past me and grabbed Stanley's shoulders. "Enough. That's enough."

Stanley squeezed my hands one last time and then let go. I stood up and Kate stared at me as if I had just put Stanley through that for no reason.

"He saw me, didn't he?" Stanley asked as Kate stroked the back of his head.

"Yeah, Stan," I reached down and put one of my hands over his heart. "He did."

* * *

"…So, your friend shot him, the man defended himself, and you did nothing? You ran away and called 911?" Hotch was asking the handcuffed witness as David and I came over.

We had been alerted to a recent crime scene in the city that had ended with one man, possibly our Vincent, getting shot and the shooter getting stabbed in the chest.

"I'm done talkin', fed," the handcuffed man said in an annoyed voice. "I ain't saying nothin'. I want my lawyer."

"You'll get a lawyer. Answer my question," Hotch countered.

The man sighed. "He shot him. Once."

"Where?"

"In the stomach."

"What was he doing when you came across him?" I asked.

"Head down, walking real fast, like he was late for something," the man told me.

"So you jumped him?" David chimed in.

The man cocked his head to the side sheepishly.

"When he didn't give you what you wanted, what did he do?" I arched a brow.

"At first, nothing. He just started making this noise with his tongue," the man said.

"What kind of noise?" Hotch asked.

"Was it like this?" I asked, before clicking my tongue the way Stanley did. Hotch turned his furrowed brow to me.

"Yeah, like that. _Exactly_ like that," the man nodded. "And he slammed Jay with a knife and turned and came after me."

"It's called echolocation," I told Hotch, who was still staring at me.

"The unsub's tenth victim—she left behind a blind son who uses echolocation to get around," David added.

"How would the killer know that?" Henderson asked incredulously.

"Because he saw the boy was blind the night he killed his mother," I shook my head.

"And I think that's why he didn't kill the boy," David theorized. "W-W-Wait a second—today's that kid's birthday. _He's_ the event."

"Henderson, get units to meet us at 6518 Cantwell Drive right now," I ordered, turning on my heel to get back into the Suburban.

* * *

"He'll be okay," David said as I drove to Kate's house.

"You don't know that," I said, taking my right hand off the wheel to anxiously smooth down the top of one of my French braided pigtails.

"We're going to find Vincent," David reached over and squeezed my thigh. "And we're going to make sure Stanley is safe."

Instead of contesting what he said, I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I took a deep breath in and out, then reached down and grabbed David's hand on my leg.

Before I parked the Suburban, the front door of the house was thrust open and Kate started running to meet David and me when we stepped out of the car.

"He's gone!" she cried as we approached the walkway. "He's gone! I thought he was in his room—he said he was tired!"

"When was the last time you checked on him?" I asked.

"Like, twenty minutes ago!" Kate put her hand on her forehead.

"Did you hear anything?" David questioned.

"I just don't understand! He would have had to _pass_ me to get out!" Kate replied.

"Kate, think," I said in the calmest tone I could muster. "When you checked on Stan, he was asleep, right?"

"He was under the covers," she nodded once.

"You closed his door. You went to _your_ room. You settled down," David said.

"I watched TV," she said, nodding more.

"Did you hear _anything_?" I echoed David's earlier question.

"I, um, I heard a car horn beep twice," she told us. "I looked out the window, though, I didn't see anything."

I turned to David. "He's gotta have twenty minutes on us," I muttered before jogging into the house.

My first instinct was to check Stanley's room. His bed was empty, his closet was empty, nothing was underneath his bed. Then, as David and Kate came to the doorway, I went to the open window and took another deep breath.

"There's blood here," I said, holding the curtain when David came in.

"Oh no, please…" Kate tearfully warbled.

"It's not Stan," David held his hand up to her. "We believe the man who took Stan was injured. It's _his_ blood."

"We think his name is Vincent," I said as she fidgeted with her necklace.

"Vincent?" she repeated.

"You know him?" David asked.

"Stan knew him before he came to me."

"For how long?" I asked.

"For over a year. He was a registered helper in a mentoring program."

"Which one?" David said as I pulled out my phone to call Garcia.

"Oh, God," Kate covered her face with her hands. "Stan has belonged to so many programs. I can't remember _where_ he met Vincent."

" _Goddess of all things knowledge_ ," answered Garcia.

I explained to her what Kate had told us about the unsub's occupation as the mother and David left the room. "I have a name. Vincent," I said, turning around to face the open window.

" _I'm gonna need a surname, McLovely_ ," the tech analyst responded.

"Dammit," I sighed. "She can't remember."

" _Uh, can you at least cross-reference Vincent's name with all the mentor organizations in Buffalo_?" I heard Emily ask.

" _I think we'll get more from the video_ ," Garcia said.

" _We're running out of time_ ," Emily pleaded.

"Come on, Garcia," I rubbed my forehead. "We need to find this kid before it's too late."

" _Just trust me, 'kay? Give me a second_ …"

I heard Garcia typing and then I heard JJ's voice.

" _Th-That's her. That's the woman from the film_ ," the media liaison said.

" _June fifth, 1983. Kim Rowlings was killed in her home. When police arrived, they found her son Vincent Rowlings. Oh, Garcia…_ " Emily cooed.

" _Thank me when we've got an address_ ," Garcia said under her breath.

" _Vincent was found sitting with the body of his murdered mother. Police believe that he sat with her for more than twenty-four hours_ ," Reid added.

" _Ugh, he was only nine years old,_ " JJ commented. " _He filmed his mother's murder and hid the tape from the police all these years_."

" _Vincent Rowlings, 5605 ½ Pearl Street, East Side, Buffalo_ ," Garcia reported.

" _Tell Hotch we're_ en route _. I love you_ ," Emily's retreating voice said.

"The feeling is mutual, Garcia," I said before hanging up and going to find David and Kate in the living room.

David was trying to comfort the crying woman. I went over to him and pulled him aside to update him on what I just found out. Not long after, I received a conference call from Garcia.

" _Hotch, you've got Rossi and McCarthy_ ," she said.

"And we have Stan's foster mother, Kate, here," I added, putting the phone on speaker. "Stanley is missing and there's blood on the windowsill."

" _Kate, did Vincent take Stan out?_ " Hotch asked. " _Was there a favorite place they liked to go?_ "

"A park, playground…?" David offered.

"No. No. Like I said, I-I only allow him to see Stan under _this_ roof, under _my_ supervision. He's been coming around more since I told him we were moving away," Kate looked at me.

" _Kate, when did you tell Vincent that?_ " Morgan asked over the line.

"Like, a week ago? Why?"

"… _What?_ " Garcia asked, as if someone was staring at her.

" _He killed Michelle Watson over a week ago_ ," JJ said.

" _That must be the stressor that triggered Vincent's behavior change_ ," Reid pointed out.

" _Kate, Vincent's drawn the number twenty-nine with a circle around it numerous times_ ," Emily said while David looked around the living room of the house. "Today _is the twenty-ninth. We believe the circle may represent a specific location. They would have talked about it, or he might even have taken him there before_."

" _Did Vincent talk to Stan about adventures that they could take? Places they could visit?_ " Hotch asked.

"What are Stanley's favorite things to do?" David asked.

"He-He-He just likes to make things, to build things," Kate walked over to a bookshelf covered in Lego-type creations. "Vincent used to help him."

"The construction sets?" I asked, coming closer.

"Yeah," she nodded.

And that's when I noticed one particularly large display on another shelf. I stepped over to the carnival attraction replica and moved it, looking over my shoulder at David.

"Ferris wheel," I said. "It's a circle."

"When did he build this?" David asked.

"Um, over the last couple of months. He's been in here every night," Kate told us.

"Garcia, check Buffalo and the surrounding areas for any theme parks, permanent or visiting," I said, exchanging glances with David.

" _…Theme park just outside of Buffalo_ ," Garcia replied.

" _Ferris wheel?_ " Hotch asked.

" _Um…_ yes _!_ "

I hung up the phone and walked towards David. "Let's go."

* * *

Sirens blaring, David's and my Suburban led the way to the theme park. I held firmly onto the steering wheel while David held onto my knee. And when I parked the SUV, I flew out the front door with my bulletproof vest on and hurried into the park, pulling out my Glock.

"FBI!" I hollered. "Out of the way!"

Everyone stared as we ran through the park, making our way to the Ferris wheel, but I couldn't have cared less about it. All I wanted was to find Stanley and find him alive and safe.

The Ferris wheel had stopped mid-rotation and I looked around to see if I could find Stanley at all. There was a large knot in my throat and I couldn't swallow it down.

"He's up top!" David shouted, grabbing my shoulder with one hand, pointing with the other.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" I hollered again, running through the crowd with a couple uniforms behind me. I went into the exit path to the ride engineer, an old man with a long ponytail and glasses. "I need you to get that kid at the top down and stop the wheel, right now!" I demanded. The old man hesitated. "NOW!"

The wheel started to move and I held up my gun, watching as Stanley's cart came to the bottom. Beside the kid was Vincent, slumped against the seat, blood trickling down from his body onto the metal. His lifeless hand was holding onto Stanley's and I felt the knot in my throat lessen as I realized he was probably dead.

"Okay, stop the wheel," I ordered once their cart had arrived at the landing deck. "Now open it," The old man scurried and opened the door to the cart, ducking out of my way as I came over, gun still pointed at Vincent. "Stanley, it's Hunter from the FBI. It's okay, sit tight," I tried to say as calmly as I could. "Stanley—"

"Wh-What's going on?" the boy stammered.

"It's me, Hunter," I said, checking Vincent's non-existent pulse before holstering my gun.

"Vincent, what's-what's going on?" Stanley asked.

"Listen to me, handsome," I said, unbuckling his seatbelt and trying to pry his hand out of Vincent's. "I need you to come with me. And I need you to let go of Vincent. Come on. Come with me. I'm getting you out of here." I grabbed both of Stanley's hands and helped him stand up. Then I picked him up, even though he was kind of heavy for me. I could feel his arms wrap around my neck as I carried him away. "It's gonna be okay, Stanley, I promise. You're okay."

"Vincent?" Stanley called out softly.

I felt my eyes welling up with every step I took, tightening my hold on the boy. As soon as I found an empty bench near the Ferris wheel entrance, I set the boy down and tried to hold back my tears.

"It's okay," I said, crouching in front of him. I glanced over and saw Kate running past Emily and Reid. "Here comes your mom."

"Oh, oh, honey!" Kate sat down on the bench and threw her arms around Stanley, who was trying just about as hard as I was not to cry, if not even harder.

I stood up and went to leave so they could have their moment together. But I didn't get too far.

"Hunter?"

I turned around and looked at the boy, my lips quivering. I crouched down in front of him once more. "What do you need, handsome?"

Stanley touched the side of my face again with his hands. "D-Did he kill my mom?"

I couldn't bring myself to answer. I reached up and touched his face. And when I stood up, I stroked a lock of his curly brown hair.

Kate looked at me and gave me a tearful smile, thanking me for helping her get Stanley back. I nodded and backed away, unsure how much longer I could hold back my tears as I watched Kate and Stanley hold each other.

And as I turned to see David staring at me from where he stood with Henderson, Morgan, Reid, and Emily, I felt my eyes water even more. I took a deep breath and kept trying to keep my shit together. I walked towards the group and David reached out to grab my shoulder. It was all I could do not to fall into his arms.

* * *

" _No matter how dark the moment, love and hope are always possible_." –George Chakiris

I sat at my desk in the dimly-lit bullpen. Most of the team had gone home, but I had chosen to stay behind and work on reports. Truth be told, I was happy when they left, as I had a lot on my mind and I was getting tired of everyone staring at me.

The entire jet ride back to Virginia, I sat curled up on the couch, listening to music, trying to ignore Emily's eyes. Morgan had asked me if I wanted to get a drink with him at the bar once we stepped onto the tarmac, but I turned him down. Garcia had stepped into her office as soon as we returned and came back with a small stack of chocolate chip cookies wrapped in a napkin, wordlessly leaving them on my desk.

I leaned back in my chair, having completely forgotten about the card from the stranger in my bottom desk drawer at this point. I cracked all of my knuckles and heaved a great sigh. Just when I had thought all the staring was over, I looked up at David's office and saw him standing at the window, drinking his post-case decaf. I tried to give him the best smile I was capable of making at this point and sat back up straight.

Deciding I needed my own decaf, I got out of my rolling chair and ambled slowly over to the coffee machine to get the last of the pot David had brewed when we came back. I grabbed the mug I had stored in the cupboard above and poured myself the coffee.

"Are you okay?"

I turned around and saw that David had come up behind me when I wasn't paying attention. I glanced around the bullpen to see if anyone was nearby. Hotch was in his office, but his blinds were shut, light poking out between them.

"Yeah," I said, turning back around to put cream and sugar in the mug.

"Hunter," David leaned his back against the counter and tried to catch my eye. "We saved Stanley. _You_ saved Stanley. Vincent is dead. It's all over."

"That's not…" I sighed and closed my eyes for a few seconds. I looked over my shoulder at him and whispered, "Do you remember what I said to you last month, when we were in Boston? About certain things weighing on me?"

David nodded slowly.

"I…I can't keep doing this," I said, feeling my eyes well up yet again. "I have to get it off my chest to-to _someone_. Or I feel like I might burst."

With a careful look around the bullpen, David reached out and grabbed one of my hands. "Go home, _bella_. And give Prentiss a call."

"Really?" I breathed. "A-Are you sure?"

David kissed my hand. "I'm sure."

"I love you," I whispered, squeezing his hand.


	26. A Doozy and a Half

**_"We, uh, got_** _our bullpen back," Rossi said as he walked over towards Emily Prentiss._

 _"Yeah," Emily sighed, having just got up to leave._

 _She waved a quick goodbye to Hunter, who was finishing up at her desk. Hunter smiled and waved back, casting a quick glance at Rossi before typing away at her keyboard as fast as she possibly could to finish what she was working on._

 _"Look, I'm, uh…sorry about 'Emily'-ing you back at that house," Rossi said as they walked towards the elevator together._

 _He was referring to the woman who had approached them outside of Chad Brown's house. Brown was a homegrown terrorist who had worked on a strain of anthrax, which had incidentally infected Reid, but he would be okay. One of Brown's neighbors had seen a man in a special suit leave the premises and asked Emily and Rossi what the deal was. Rossi had thought she was about to spill the anthrax beans and had said her first name in a warning tone before she recovered and told the woman it was just a bad case of mold._

 _"No, it's all right," Emily said._

 _Rossi looked at her. "Is it?"_

 _Emily made a tutting noise. "Hey, I toed the company line, didn't I?"_

 _"Do you think people would be better off knowing everything we've prevented since 9/11?" Rossi asked, stepping in front of her so they would stop walking. "Would it make them feel safer or more vulnerable?"_

 _Emily considered his words, looking up to the ceiling._

 _"You did the right thing," Rossi assured her._

 _"Yeah, I know that," she nodded. "I know it wouldn't have helped anything if that woman knew what was happening across the street from her and her kids. I lied because it was my job, and I wanted to protect her."_

 _"So, what's eating at you, then?" Rossi asked._

 _"Uh…" Emily turned to keep walking towards the elevator, pressing the button once she was close enough. "Am I naïve to wish that lying is never the right thing to do?"_

 _Rossi took a moment before answering. "With this job…"_

 _"Yeah," Emily looked to the side. She knew all about how certain jobs required certain lies. Even outside of the FBI. "Sometimes our job sucks."_

 _The elevator bell dinged._

 _"Yeah," Rossi whispered, entering the elevator as soon as it opened._

 _"And yet, next time I probably won't hesitate to lie again," Emily replied, stepping in beside him._

 _Rossi pressed the button to the garage. "We got a lot of things to take with us to the grave," he sighed._

 _"Wait! Hold the door!" called out Hunter as she jogged over to meet them._

 _Rossi put his arm out before the doors closed and let Hunter come in. Emily noticed that the two agents' eyes lingered on each other for more than a second before Hunter sidled up to her._

 _The three shared a silent ride downstairs. Emily couldn't help but feel a little tension in the elevator as it descended. It wasn't the unresolved sexual tension she had normally felt around Rossi and Hunter before. Hell, she hadn't felt that in_ months _, now that she was thinking of it._

 _No, this tension was different. It wasn't_ bad _or foreboding. But Emily knew something was going on with her best friend, and the voicemail she had received shortly after they had returned from Buffalo two weeks earlier had confirmed it._

 _"Ladies, have a good weekend," Rossi said to them as they stepped out into the parking garage._

 _"You too," Hunter gave him a quick nod._

 _"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Emily joked, winking at the older agent._

 _David smiled back and glanced at Hunter, an almost_ knowing _look in his eyes, before they parted ways._

 _"Sooo…" Hunter shoved her hands in the back pockets of her tight-fitting dark blue slacks as she walked alongside Emily to their cars. "I've been trying to get in touch with you for a while."_

 _"Yeah, I got your message. Is everything okay?" Emily cocked a brow._

 _"Oh, yeah, everything's fine. I just…really need to talk to you. I know things have been crazy busy what with the past couple cases we've had and I know you have your own life and your own shit to deal with, but—"_

 _"I think I know where this is going," Emily cut her off. "I'll bring the wine, you order the Chinese."_

 _Hunter grinned and pulled out her keys. "This is why I love you so much_."

* * *

"You _WHAT_?!"

"I know, I know. It's crazy," I paced in my living room, crossing my arms so my elbows were tucked together and my hands were on their opposite shoulders.

"Hold on," Emily squeezed her eyes shut and held her hands up as if to stop me. "You…and-and Rossi…have been _secretly dating_?"

"That's correct," I gulped.

"Since _when_?!"

"Remember when Rossi invited us to his cabin last fall?"

Emily's jaw dropped. "That was _months_ ago!"

"I know."

"I can't believe it," Emily shook her head. "I absolutely can't believe it."

Not knowing what to say, I pursed my lips and stood in front of her, watching her figure it out. I couldn't tell if she was angry or not. I was really afraid that this would end our best friendship, but it needed to be said.

"I-I mean, it's…" she shook her head again. "Why didn't you _tell_ me about it?"

"On my mother's eyes I _swear_ I wanted to tell you as soon as it happened," I implored. "We decided that it would be best to keep it a secret, so we could prove that we could work together."

"Holy shit," Emily gasped. "I-I mean, it _worked_. I never would've thought… But-But it _makes sense_. How did I not know?"

I started to crack my knuckles, as per one of my nervous tics. I still couldn't accurately gauge her reaction. She seemed to be working on shock, but I couldn't tell past that.

"All those looks you give each other— _especially_ when we were leaving today. And the-the arm touching. And the time you called him _David_ ," she spluttered.

"I really wanted to tell you," I said quietly. "Every day."

"I…I…"

"You're the only one who knows," I told her. "…Other than Mudgie, that is."

" _Mudgie_?"

"David's dog."

"Wow," Emily gasped, running her hands through her dark hair.

"A-Are you mad?" I grimaced in anticipation of her answer.

Emily's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"I totally understand if you are. But just know that it's been killing me inside all these months," I said, feeling tears prick my eyes.

"When were you planning on telling anyone?" Emily asked.

"David says we should wait a little while longer to go public," I told her. "I don't know when that will _be_ , but I trust him."

Emily shook her head again and took a deep breath. I went to sit next to her on the couch, sitting on my heels.

"I still just don't understand why you would hide it," she finally said, looking at me.

"We didn't want to be split up. I-I didn't want to leave the BAU," I told her.

"Oh, Hunter Lynn," Emily sighed. "I understand wanting to keep your private life private, but…don't you think hiding something like this, and hiding it for so long is going to blow up in your face? Don't you think Hotch is going to be angrier that you didn't say anything right out of the gate?"

"I can't say the thought has never crossed my mind, but, like I said, I trust David," I admitted.

"Well, this is a fucking doozy and a half," Emily bounced her eyebrows.

"I know," I pursed my lips again.

She reached out and grabbed both of my hands, having finally calmed down from her initial reaction.

"Hunter, I'm not mad at you," she assured me. "I think you deserve all the happiness in the world. And as your certified best friend, I'm so happy for you. I've been rooting for you and Rossi on the DL since I found out you had a thing for him. But I gotta say, I'm a little hurt that you didn't think you could tell me about this earlier."

"It's not you, I _promise_ ," I gave her hands a tight squeeze.

"I've heard that one before," Emily deadpanned, giving me a funny look.

"It's never been a matter of my trust in you or anyone on the team. It's just…the way it happened. I know it's not ideal and I know how it hurts. Trust me, it hurt me more than it could ever hurt you."

Emily let go of my hands and pulled me into a hug. "I love you, Hunter. And I promise I won't tell anyone. But I will tell you that you should convince _David_ to speed that timeline up a bit."

"I'm working on it," I laughed bitterly. "Thank you for being so awesome."

"Hey, that's what I'm here for," Emily shrugged.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Ready for round two on the Chinese food?"

"Oh, I'm _always_ ready."


End file.
